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The  Writings  of 
Ivan  Panin 

▼       T 


Printed  for   the  Author   by 

The  Wilson   H.  Lee  Company 

New  Haven,  Connecticut 

.:*.      fc*  ** 

Copyrighted,  1918 



Grafton,   Mass.,   U.  S.  A. 

AUG  -5  1918 

Copies  may  be  obtained  at  cost,  $2.50,  from  I.  Panin,  Graft 
Mass.,  U.  S.  A. 



The  writer's  estimate  of  his  own  work,  of  all 

literary  work,  will  be  found  by  the  reader  clearly 

enough  enunciated  in  the  following  pages.     But 

he  writer's  literary  life  of  some  forty  years  has 

•en  lone ;  and  no  soul  has  yet  been  found  to  whom 
*s  paper  doings  could  be  committed  with:  "Here, 
lorsooth,  are  the  embarrassing  things.  Do  with 
*hem  as  thou  deemest  best,  once  I  am  laid 
away."  And  it  is  only  seven  brief  days  ago  that 
an  only  child,  a  son  of  seven  and  twenty  years, 
w^as  laid  away  first     .... 

Somehow  the  time  has  not  yet  come  for  these 
bits  to  be  destroyed.  And  the  speediest  way  to 
dispose  of  what  now  must  be  disposed  is  to 
rid  oneself  of  them  by  handing  them  over  to  be 
printed     .... 

What  has  thus  been  chosen,  or  rather  what  has 
been  left  from  the  writer's  unsparing  frequent 
housecleanings,  is  here  gathered  together  into  a 
book,  with  contents  rather  variegated,  but  all 
having  one  purpose,  however  dimly  discernible 
in  some  of  the  pieces:  to  show  forth  that  the 
thoughts  and  the  ways  of  even  the  best  equipped 
of  this  age  are  after  all — foolishness;  and  that 
true  wisdom  is  after  all  only  one:  the  fear  and 
knowledge  of  God,  but  the  God  of  the  Bible;  the 


Jehovah  of  the  Old  Testament,  revealed  in  the 
New  as  the  Father  of  the  Son,  the  Savior  of  men. 
This  thought  makes  the  unity  of  the  book. 

The  papers  on  Emerson  and  Tolstoy  are  the 
first  and  the  last  of  a  series  of  addresses  on 
u Modern  Teachers  and  Christianity/7  delivered 
in  Boston  about  1898.  The  others  were  Carlyle, 
Ruskin  and  Arnold.  But  the  Introductory 
address  and  those  on  Carlyle,  Ruskin  and  Arnold 
got  themselves  weeded  out  in  due  time :  the  real 
question  being  not  whether  they  be  saved,  but 
rather  whether  the  two  remaining  had  not  better 
also  follow  their  companions  into  their  allotted 

The  several  "Tribulations"  recorded  in  what 
may  seem  a  humorous  way,  were  to  the  writer 
then  and  still  remain — far  from  humorous.  They 
are,  however,  a  most  effective  commentary  on 
Aphorism  No.  542. 

Not  everything  in  this  volume  represents  the 
writer  of  to-day;  but  only  as  he  has  been  at 

51  Cluny  Avenue, 
Rosedale,  Toronto,  Canada 
June  14th,  191 7. 





Introduction  .      .      ...      .          I-  18 


Of  God       .      .      . 

19-  54 


Letters  and  Art    . 

■        55"  86 


Of  Pain      .      .      . 

87-  90 


Of  Sorrow 



Poverty  and  Riches 



Of  Truth  and  Error 

1 1 7-1 36 


Parables     . 



Faith,  Love,  Hope 



Of  Judging      .      . 



The  Ages  ..      .      . 



Saint  and  Sinner 



Wise  and  Foolish 



Sub-Humans  . 



Spirit,  Flesh,  World 



Of  Happiness 



Heart  and  Head  . 



Christianity,  True  Religion 



Philosophy,  Science  So-Called 



The  Moderns        .... 



Of  Life       .... 



Of  Society 

301-31 1 


Men  and  Women 



Of  Friend  and  Enemy 



Of  Generosity  and  Giving 



Men  and  Things 



Aphorisms — Continued.  pages 

XXVII.     Of  Speech  and  Silence     .      .      .  357-361 

XXVIII.     The  State        .      .      .      .      .      .  362-365 

XXIX.     Of  Virtue  and  Vice    ....  366-369 

XXX.     Definitions      .      .      .      .      .      .  370-461 

XXXI.     Conduct    .      .      .      .      .      .      .  462-470 

XXXII.     Paralipomena 471-473 


I.     Emerson 476-506 

II.     Tolstoy      .      . 507-532 


I.     Of  a  B.  I. 533-541 

II.     Of  a  Student  .      .      .      .      .      .      .  542-556 

Day    Before  Christmas   in   a  New  England 

Village  .      .      .....      .      .      ,      .  557-564 

Inspiration    of    the    Scriptures  Scientifically 

Demonstrated 565-573 

Appendix:     Preface  to  "Thoughts"  of   1899  574-586 




The  motives  for  writing  are  several,  but  the 
motives  for  publishing  are  in  the  artist  only  three : 
a  desire  for  money,  or  fame,  or  both;  a  conviction 
that  the  artist  has  aught  to  say  and  give  that 
the  world  needs;  a  craving  for  recognition, 


Samuel  Johnson  is  reported  to  have  said  that 
no  one  but  a  fool  ever  wrote  for  aught  but  money. 
Quotations  are  ever  treacherous  things.  Even  if 
the  words  themselves  be  correctly  reported,  their 
other  equally  important  part  is  hardly  ever  faith- 
fully rendered;  the  speaker's  tone,  the  hearer's 
attitude,  the  place  of  both,  and  the  time  that  is 
ever  independent  of  either — who  shall  faithfully 
reproduce  these?  During  a  thunderstorm  an 
eloquent  divine  took  advantage  thereof  with 
telling  effect  in  his  discourse.  He  was  forthwith 
requested  to  have  it  printed.  He  consented,  but 
on  condition  that  the  storm  be  also  printed  there- 
with  .    .    . 


But  even  if  Johnson  did  thus  speak,  he  for 
once  spake  here  inadvisedly  with  his  lips.  He 
knew  at  least  of  certain  six  and  sixty  books 
(in  some  one  of  which  he  not  a  day  but  diligently 
read)  that,  for  whate'er  else  they  were  writ,  for 
money    they    were    not    writ.     The    five    books 


of  Moses  were  not  writ  for  money,  nor  the 
three  of  Solomon,  nor  the  four  Major  Prophets, 
nor  the  twelve  Minor,  nor  the  four  Gospels,  nor 
the  one  and  twenty  Epistles,  nor  the  Psalms  of 
David,  and  the  rest  .  .  .  Pascal  wrote  not  his 
books  for  money,  nor  Joubert  his  book,  nor 
Amiel  his,  nor  many  another  noble  soul  before 
Johnson's  reported  dictum  or  after. 


To  make  mere  merchandise  of  thy  truth,  thy 
beauty  of  spirit,  is  no  less  ignoble  than  to  make 
merchandise  of  thy  beauty  of  flesh.  And  the 
writing  for  mere  shekels  is  equally  ignoble  in  the 
at  heart  upright  and  otherwise  pure  Walter  Scott 
with  the  modern  at  heart  vulgar  novelwriting 
dame  whose  final  standard  of  literary  ' 'success' ' 
is  abundant  flow  of  publisher's  checkdom  into 
establishment  set  up  thereby  on  the  outskirts 
of  ever  aspired-to  four-hundreddom.  "Dollar 
Wheat"  quoted  right  cheerily  with  satisfaction 
at  the  "prosperity"  it  betokens,  is  at  least  the 
reward  of  honest  heaven-appointed  toil.  But 
dollar  literature,  begun  in  mire,  it  ends  only 
in  corruption.  Irrevocable  is  the  verdict  there- 
on: Dust  thou  art,  to  dust  shalt  thou  return — 
whether  the  dollarish  scribe  be  man  of  genius 
or  only  the  literary  hewer  of  wood  and  drawer  of 


Joubert  the  man  and  Joubert  the  writer 
are,  what  in  Letters  is  in  nowise  frequent,  only 
the  two  members  of  an  equation — the  one 
the  exact  equal  of  the  other.  The  man  Jou- 
bert is  neither  more  nor  less  than  the  writer ; 


the  writer  Joubert  neither  less  nor  more  than  the 
man.  But  while  his  book  is  for  the  few,  his 
life  is  for  the  many.  He  had  lived  to  the  allotted 
threescore  and  ten,  with  what  was  best  in  the 
France  of  his  day  at  his  beck,  admired  thereof 
and  beloved.  Yet  this  man  Joubert  is  content 
to  print  of  the  accumulations  of  a  life  time  naught 
during  his  life  time.  Much  water  instead  is  al- 
lowed to  flow  by  ere  his  book  at  last  gets  itself 
into  print :  some  fifteen  years  after  his  disappear- 
ance into  the  grave  .  .  .  The  man  who  can 
thus  live,  thus  write,  is  a  unique  species  in  the 
realm   of   Letters,    a — Joubert. 


Schopenhauer,  both  as  writer  and  man,  displays 
a  genius  for  making  himself  disagreeable,  objec- 
tionable. To  a  gigantic  faith  in  his  philosophy 
as  the  last  word  of  man  concerning  all  the  prob* 
lems  of  life  raised  by  the  mind  of  man  (any 
"philosophy"  being  already  an  intrinsic  piece  of 
abiding  worthlessness),  there  was  added  in  him 
an  unquenchable  thirst  for  what  he  kept  calling 
his  Ruhrn,  his  "fame," — the  real  vulgar  applause 
as  much  as  fame — which  in  its  unmanliness  com- 
pares only  with  the  craving  of  the  sot  for  his 
bottle.  His  temper  was  bitter,  his  ambition 
ignoble,  his  philosophy  worthless,  his  heart  bad. 
Nevertheless,  his  whole  being  thus  tending  to- 
ward the  nadir,  and  in  nowise  toward  the  zenith, 
there  are  some  things  about  him  that  stamp  him  as 
a  king,  though  a  throneless  king.  For  his  dignity 
as  a  man  of  Letters  he  displays  a  truly  royal 
concern.  Not  even  the  master  passion  for  his 
Ruhm  shall  make  him  bend  here  even  a  barley- 


corn  of  his  Imperial  neck.  His  self -exalting, 
heaven-defying  pride,  his  shaking  as  it  were  the 
red  cloth  into  the  very  face  of  the  Almighty,  his 
perverseness  of  head  and  iciness  of  heart  that  of 
necessity  go  therewith,  must  indeed  in  nowise  be 
forgot.  But  it  is  well  to  note  the  fact,  the  heroic 
fact,  that  when  a  publisher  is  after  much  search- 
ing at  last  found  for  his  Life-Book,  his  chief 
concern  in  his  contract  with  him  is  the  one  item : 
that  his  book  be  read  by  at  least  three  scholarly 
proof-readers,  and  the  proofs  sent  to  him  for 
final  correction;  and  that  not  a  line  be  in  any  wise 
finally  printed  until  returned  sheets  had  his  ap- 
proval. The  book,  come  what  may — let  pub- 
lishers perish,  and  the  heavens  fall — must  be 
correctly  printed,  in  large  type,  on  good  paper, 
and  otherwise  sent  forth  as  becomes  the  child 
of  a  king.  And  the  type  setter,  though  all  the 
world  spell  ahnen,  must  follow  the  manuscript, 
and  spell  ahnden,  else  the  book  is  not  to  get  itself 
printed  at  all.  Arthur  Schopenhauer — how  to 
strike  a  bargain  cannily  with  his  publisher,  this 
he  knows  full  well,  as  well  as  Ralph  Waldo  Emer- 
son himself;  and  the  contract  is  accordingly  leng- 
thy, and  its  items  numerous,  but  his  heart, 
his  toward  men  icy  and  bitter  heart,  here  glows, 
and  only  for  that  one  item :  that  if  his  book  is  at 
all  to  be  sent  unto  men,  it  must  be  only  as  the 
ambassador  of  a  king. 


But  his  masterstroke  Schopenhauer  deals  out 

with   giant's   hand  in   the    Preface   to   the   first 

edition   of   his   Life   Book.     Here   is   an   octavo 

volume  of  some  seven  hundred  pages  on  the  ab- 


strusest  oc  things  mundane  and  extra-mundane — 
Kantian  Metaphysics.  Yet  Schopenhauer,  barely 
thirty,  longing,  yearning,  craving,  even  manipu- 
lating for  recognition,  calmly  announces  to  the 
reader  of  the  seven  hundred  page  octavo  of  Meta- 
physics that  this  book  must  be  read  at  least  twice 
ere  it  can  become  unto  him  a  piece  of  intelligi- 
bility. And  that  even  thus  no  understanding  is 
like  to  be  had  unless  an  equally  abstruse,  far  other 
than  thin,  separately  printed  treatise  be  first  read, 
with  problematic  title:  "The  Fourfold  Root  of 
the  Proposition  concerning  Fundamentals,'  - — 
a  kind  of  analysis  of  everything  in  general  and 
of  all  things  in  particular,  with  a  discussion  of  the 
rest  besides.  The  relation  of  this  particular 
treatise  to  Schopenhauer's  Life-work,  "The 
World  as  Will  and  Concept,"  is  about  the  same 
as  a  treatise  on  Logarithms  is  to  Trigonometry. 

I  confess  I  stand  before  this  fact,  unique  in 
Letters,  as  before  a  Sublimity,  a  kind  of  Mount 
Everest  among  the  Peaks.  To  write  his  life  work 
thus,  to  demand  and  expect  from  the  reader  ab- 
solute compliance  with  such  standard:  "Reader, 
read  on  my  terms,  or  else  hie  thyself  hence!" 
— only  an  Olympian  soul  is  capable  of  that.  And 
when  all  else  of  Schopenhauer  has  at  last  found 
its  final  way  into  the  limbo  of  inanity,  whither 
because  of  the  millstone  round  its  neck  it  is 
surely  gravitating,  this  fact  alone  must  yet  keep 
his  memory  green,  and  cheerily  green,  nobly 
green   .    .    . 



Arthur  Schopenhauer  is  a  standing  rebuke  to 
the  reported  saying  of  Samuel  Johnson  that  no  one 
but  a  fool  ever  wrote  for  other  than  money ;  and 
he  is  a  swift  witness  against  the  whole  race  of 
modern. scribes  who,  because  a  dollarish  market  is 
readily  found  for  their  otherwise  needless  wares, 
lay  forthwith  claim  for  themselves  to  a  divinely 
appointed   place   in   the   economy   of   Universe. 


The  desire  for  fame  is  only  less  ignoble  than  the 
bid  for  literary  dollars :  since  it  assumes  that  not 
only  does  the  fame  craver  deserve  it,  but  also  that 
the  world  owes  it  to  him  to  know  it.  This  per- 
sistent insistence  on  standing  on  one's  rights, 
and  claiming  one's  due,  if  one  has  here  at  all  any 
rights  and  due,  is  the  great  element  of  all  vul- 
garity in  the  otherwise  by  no  means  low.  Every 
station  in  life  has  its  own  vulgarity,  and  this  is  the 
Shy  lock  trait  of  many  a  son  of  Power :  with  Schop- 
enhauer as  a  classic  example  thereof  among  the 
giants  of  men.  Writing  for  mere  fame — it  too 
rises  in  the  pit,  and  goeth  into  exile  from  heaven. 
The  confusion  of  tongues  was  inflicted  upon  sinful 
men  first  for  climbing  heavenward  by  a  tower  of 
their  own;  but  second,  for  saying:  Go  to,  let  us 
make  a  name  for  ourselves  upon  earth.  The 
humble  soul  beats  its  breast  in  fear,  Lest  we 
forget!  The  uplifted,  soul  tears  its  hair  in  rage, 
Lest  we  be  forgotten ! 

Napoleon,  among  his  other  nobilities,  which  lay 
in  neighborhood   close   enough   to  many  rather 


lamentable  ignobilities,  had  also  this  notable  one : 
When  Flattery  would  fain  derive  his  descent  from 
Charlemagne  himself,  he  gave  answer,  "I  am 
myself  my  own  first  ancestor."  I  dislike  about 
Corneille  the  reverse  of  this:  his  saying  that 
has  somehow  got  itself  filtered  across  the  cen- 
turies: "My  renown"  (Schopenhauer's  ignoble 
Ruhm  again)  "I  owe  only  to  myself."  And  the 
ill-advisedest  piece  of  service  an  editor  ever  did 
to  an  author  he  was  introducing  was  to  print 
among  his  otherwise  highminded  bits  also  this: 
"Of  all  that  I  write  will  aught  survive?  If 
renown  I  win,  to  what  shall  I  owe  it?  To  my 
Limousin  Epic?  To  my  Limousin  Dictionary? 
To  these  Thoughts?  I  would  like  to  know." 


"His  This  may  be  forgotten,  his  That  may  pass 

away,   but  his  fame  is  secure!"     Shallow  wind 

up  to  the  discussion  of  a  great  soul.     If  any  worth 

was  in  him  at  all,  he  cared  naught  for  his  "fame." 

The  "immortality"  had  by  writers  of  fame  is  not 
worth  having.     For  the  immortality  that  is  worth 
having  one  must  be  aught  more  than  even  a  great 
writer,  perhaps  even  something  wholly  different. 


The  conviction  that  the  world  needs  what  one 

has  to  say  thereto  is  delusion.     When  Omar  left 

Alexandria's  library  to  the  flames  with  the  words : 

"If  what  is  therein  agrees  with  the  Koran,  it  need 


not  be  preserved;  if  it  agree  not  with  the  Koran, 
it  should  not  be  preserved,"  he  only  wrongly 
applied  to  the  Koran  what  is  rightly  applied  only 
to  another  book,  the  BOOK.  And  if  men  heed 
not  the  Bible,  neither  will  they  heed  thee,  O 
man,  whosoever  thou  art,  if  so  be  that  thy 
message  be  unto  life  and  not  unto  death.  "If  they 
believe  not  Moses  and  the  prophets,  neither 
will  they  believe  though  one  rose  from  the  dead." 

When  Walter  Scott,  who  himself  had  writ  some 
threescore  books,  lay  on  his  death  bed,  he  asked 
his  son-in-law  Lockhart  for  "the  book."  "Which 
book,  Sir  Walter?"  "There  is  only  one  book," 
he  gave  answer,  and  pointed  to  the  Bible.  Thus 
with  one  word — death  here  as  elsewhere  proving 
a  rather  stern  eyeopener — he  assigned  their 
true  place  to  his  toil  of  a  life  time,  his  Waverleys, 
Marmions,  Lake  Ladies,  and  the  rest.  Already 
some  fifteen  decades  before  Scott  one  mightier 
than  he  had  declared  vociferously  enough  that 
there  is  only  one  BOOK  worth  reading,  this  self- 
same Bible.  •  .  And  what  makes  Pascal  a 
greater  than  Scott  is  that  he  did  not  have  to  wait 
for  death  to  open  here  his  eyes,  but  saw  at  six 
and  twenty  what  it  took  Sir  Walter  threescore 
years  to  learn,  and  only  after  bitter  disappoint- 
ment and  sorrow. 


But  even  the  philanthropy  of  the  motive  to 
teach  mankind  is  seldom  aught  but  delusion. 
Rather  is  it  apt  to  be  a  subtle  working  of  the  desire 
hid  in  the  breast  of  every  son  of  Adam  to  impose 
self  upon  his  fellows,  the  ever-old  conceit  in  one  of 


its  Protean  forms:  "I  forsooth  am  wise  enough 
to  sum  up  in  me  the  wisdom  of  the  ages  for  my 
hapless  fellows."  For  a  tyrant  is  man,  restless 
until  he  hath  turned  the  very  stars  out  of  their 
course  to  swing  their  times  to  his  own  erratic 
oscillations.  If  he  cannot  impose  upon  Universe 
his  knowledge,  then  at  least  his  ignorance;  and 
if  not  his  competency,  then  at  least  his  incom- 
petency ;  and  if  Universe  cannot  be  stirred  by  the 
lever  of  Archimedes,  then  at  least  by  gentle  tug 
of  some  wire  pulling  behind  the  bar  room.  This 
is  the  reason  for  the  ubiquitous  hunger  for 
leadership,  and  unceasing  attempts  at  shaking  the 
eternal  pillars  of  the  heavens.  Nay,  the  very 
philanthropist  is  ill  at  ease  unless  he  can  impart 
his  liquidity  for  the  woes  of  man  in  drops  of  his 
own  rotundity  and  bottles  of  his  own  fragility. 

For  every  great  thought  sent  forth  from  the 
depths  there  either  already  is,  or  surely  shall  be 
some  soul  born  to  receive  it,  though  not  necessarily 
in  the  same  age.  When  this  thought  meets  the 
one  soul  for  whom  it  was  writ,  a  marriage  takes 
place,  and  thus  it  is  that  all  that  is  truly  great  is 
perpetuated  in  offspring. 

Genius  knowing  that  it  creates  for  some  one, 
errs  in  looking  for  its  mate  during  its  life-time, 
craving  as  it  does  for  recognition,  sympathy:  the 
first  law  of  man  in  genius  as  in  all  else  being,  It  is 
not   good   for   man   to    be    lone.     But    Universe 


is  pledged  for  the  recognition  of  genius,  it  is  not 
pledged  for  sympathy  to  its  possessor. 

In  his  first  stage  Genius  is  sure  that  he  will 
be  appreciated  by  his  generation:  the  craving  for 
sympathy  misleads  him  here.  But  the  discovery 
is  at  last  in  all  bitterness  made  that  of  all  chases 
the  vainest  is  after  sympathy  ...  In  the  second 
stage  he  is  sure  that  recognized  he  yet  shall  be: 
if  not  in  his  generation,  then  in  some  other.  In 
the  third  stage  he  toils  on,  and  even  joys  in  his 
toil  with  a  certain  sadness,  praising  Heaven  for 
the  privilege  of  toiling, — sympathy  or  no  sym- 
pathy, recognition  or  no  recognition. 

It  is  a  mark  of  divine  power  that  it  never  tires. 

Lone  is  the  path  of  Genius,  and  sore  at  times 
his  heart,  and  bitter  even  now  and  then  his  soul. 
For  one  who  hath  beneath  his  waistcoat  not  a 
bit  of  cold  stone,  but  a  goodly  portion  of  warm 
throbbing  human  flesh,  it  is  already  hard  to  see 
the  priest  of  a  Taster,  and  the  Levite  of  a  Senser 
pass  by  in  silence.  But  to  see  them  not  only 
pass  by,  but  with  robe  uplifted  and  fringe  gathered 
in;  the  inward  fatness  glistening  out  of  the  eye, 
and  the  outward  inflation  displayed  on  the  lip, 
publisher  himself  meanwhile  patting  him  patron- 
izingly on  the  back,  his  broken  back:  "You  are 
forsooth,  dear  fellow,  a  veritable  genius;  but  on 
mature,  careful,  lengthy  conscientious,  and  most 
sympathetic  consideration  of  your  most  valuable 
doings,   we   feel  painfully,   most  painfully,   con- 


strained  to  leave  thee,  dear  good  Genius,  to  wallow 
in  the  ditch  in  thy  life  blood" — there  is  a,  time 
when  even  Genius  is  weak  enough  (or  is  it  really 
weakness?)  to  feel  thereover  a  pang  unutter- 
able  .    .    . 


Kepler  was  great  when  he  discovered  the  laws 
that  go  by  his  name.  He  was  greater  when  he 
said:  If  God  could  wait  six  thousand  years  for 
some  soul  to  discover  His  laws,  I  can  wait  six 
hundred  for  the  appreciation  of  mine. 

I  used  to  think  meanly  of  the  ostrich  for  hiding 
her  head  in  the  sand.     I  think  better  of  her  since 
I  have  learned  that  she  leaves  her  eggs  to  be 
hatched  by  the  sun. 

■     24. 

For  every  beauty  there  is  an  eye  somewhere 
to  see  it ;  for  every  truth  there  is  an  ear  somewhere 
to  hear  it ;  for  every  love  there  is  a  heart  somewhere 
to  receive  it.  But  though  my  beauty  meet  no 
eye,  it  still  doth  glow;  though  my  truth  meet  no 
ear,  it  still  doth  shine,  but  if  my  love  meet  no 
heart,  it  can  only  break   .    .    . 

In  Letters  above  all  it  is  true  that  it  is  not  good 
for  man  to  be  lone.  To  the  two  indispensabili- 
ties  of  Genius  for  doing  its  best,  native  endowment 
and  cultured  application,  there  must  ever  be  join- 
ed the  third:  the  sympathy  of  the  audience  ad- 
dressed. But  mayhap  the  one  lesson  needed  to 
learn  by  those  who  would  walk  with  God — and  the 
bestowal  of  Genius  is  ever  the  invitation  from  on 


high :  Come  up  higher,  friend,  into  the  third,  yea, 
into  the  seventh  heaven — is  that  for  at  least  a 
goodly  portion  of  the  way  they  must  walk 
lone  even  to  the  breaking  of  the  heart.  Only 
thus  shall  the  lone  pilgrim  be  enabled  to  keep  his 
eye  fixed  upon  heaven;  and  only  then  shall  he 
hear  the  voice:  "They  that  sow  in  tears  shall  yet 
reap  in  gladness."    .    .    . 


It  is  the  part  of  a  wise  soul  to  be  indifferent 
to  incompetent  blame.  It  is  the  part  of  a  delicate 
soul  to  be  ill  at  ease  before  incompetent  praise. 
I  used  to  be  pleased  at  the  praise  bestowed  upon 
my  work  until  I  perceived  how  easily  the  work 
of  others  is  praised. 

The  man  who  has  the  literary  instinct  should 
write: — that  is  his  nature.    But  he  should  seldom 
publish  while  still  alive.     There  is  then  no  oc- 
casion for  vanity,  money,  delusion. 

Is  naught  then  to  be  published  save  the  work 
of  the  dead?     No,  only  of  the  dead.     But  they 
need  not  always  be  the  dead  that  are  already 
under  the  sod. 


It  is  now  some  eighteen  hundred  years  since 
there  came  into  the  world  a  book  under  auspices 
modest  enough.  No  prospectus  was  sent  forth 
months    ahead     to    announce    the    forthcoming 


sensation;  no  posters  were  urging  the  passer  by  to 
read  the  book,  since  every  one  else  was  reading  it. 
It  was  not  thrown  into  the  lap  of  passengers  in  the 
railway  coaches,  nor  were  pictures  of  its  author 
displayed  in  the  shop  windows.  The  Gladstones 
of  those  days  wrote  no  lengthy  reviews  thereof. 
It  was  not  dramatized  for  the  stage,  and  was 
talked  of  neither  at  reception  nor  at  club.  So 
little  stir  did  it  make  at  its  entrance  into  the 
world  of  letters  that  the  popular  dry  goods  seller 
of  the  day  did  not  deem  it  worthy  of  being  made  a 
premium  for  every  dollar  of  hose  disposed  of. 
Softly,  silently  it  came:  like  all  that  is  great, 
like  every  true  gift  from  the  heavens,  like  the 
falling  snow,  like  the  rays  of  the  sun;  yea,  like 
the  voice  of  Him  that  speaketh  unto  the  heart  of 
man  neither  in  the  thunder  nor  yet  in  the  earth- 
quake, but  in  the  still  small  voice. 

So  softly  indeed  did  this  Book  glide  in  that 
even  unto  this  day,  some  eighteen  centuries 
thereafter,  no  adequate  name  has  yet  been  found 
therefor  at  the  hands  of  men.  As  in  its  highest 
moments,  the  soul  confesses  before  God  that  He 
is  the  Great  Unspeakable,  the  Great  Unnamable, 
so  have  men  in  their  highest  wisdom  had  to  con- 
fess that  this  Book  cannot  be  named,  and  it  has 
ever  since  remained  simply  The  Book,  The  Bible. 

And  yet  this  nameless  Book  somehow  gets 
itself  translated  into  every  tongue,  circulated  in 
every  clime;  and  read  and  studied,  and  lived  by 
every  age,  every  rank,  and  condition  of  life   .    .    . 


Men  are  deceived  about  nothing  so  much 
as  about  their  motives;  and  the  question  comes 
up  now  and  then,  But  wherefore  dost  thou  write? 
When  at  my  lowest,  I  find,  I  wrote  out  some  of  the 
things  seething  within  me  because  I  wished  to 
show  men  that  I  could  write  aught  worthy  of  their 
attention.  And  these  were  precisely  the  things 
which,  from  the  fondness  of  a  parent  for  even  a 
deformed  child,  were  surely  over-estimated. 

But  the  growing  soul  soon  scrabbles  out  of 
such  pit.  The  next  height,  however,  was  in  no 
wise  preferable  to  the  preceding  depth.  There 
are  dollars  in  writing  acceptable  things ;  and  even 
Thoughts,  naked  Thoughts,  without  the  tinsel 
of  dress,  can  surely  be  turned  into  gold,  at  least  in- 
to silver  .  .  .  But  this  too,  thank  God,  could 
be  of  only  utmost  brevity  of  time.  But  now  with 
desire  gone  to  have  folk  know  that  there  is  aught 
in  thee,  with  desire  gone  to  exchange  thy  thought 
for  gold:  desire  instead  becoming  indeed  intense 
enough  the  other  way — to  exchange  gold  for 
thought,  where'er  obtainable,  at  whate'er  cost — 
what  motive  could  there  now  be  for  writing? 
The  esteem  of  even  the  competent  ceasing 
to  be  of  value;  and  with  the  new  knowledge 
of  the  future  life  fame  having  become  a  mere 
bubble  blown  only  for  babes,  and  chased  only  by 
fools — what  motive  could  there  now  remain  for 
writing,  writing,  writing,  day  after  day,  week 
after  week,  month  after  month,  year  after  year, 
decade  after  decade,  without  a  word  of  cheer  from 
a  single  soul  dear  unto  thee,  without  a  ray  of 
hope  for  more  than  one  sympathetic  soul  as  an 
audience  in  mayhap  a — century  ?     Why  this  con- 


stant  tearing  out  this  as  unworthy  of  thine  art,  re- 
writing here,  polishing  there,  filing  now,  adding 
anon,  looking  at  this  bit  with  the  microscope,  at 
yonder  mass  with  the  telescope,  scrutinizing  both 
with  spectroscope — why  this  unceasing,  loving, 
sad,  lone,  yet  cheering,  toil  o'er  these  bits  of 
thine,  which  only  few  are  like  to  care  for,  and 
still  fewer  like  to  find  what  thou  dost  put  therein? 
So  after  all,  the  true  answer  given  years  ago 
by  the  youth  of  five  and  twenty,  must  it  be  given 
also  by  the  man  of  five  and  forty?  Said  the 
youth  of  five  and  twenty:  -  'Wherefore  do  I  write? 
I  know  it  not.  Wherefore  doth  the  bird  sing? 
Wherefore  doth  the  tree  bear  fruit?" 

Both  the  immature  youth  and  the  mature 
man,  do  they  then  thus  indeed  justify  their 
writing?  Pause  thereat  a  moment.  Say  the 
youth  and  man:  "Can  the  bird  help  singing? 
Neither  can  I  help  writing.  Can  the  tree  help 
bearing?  Neither  can  I  help  composing.  It  is 
natural  for  the  bird  to  sing,  and  it  is  only  natural 
for  me  to  write.  It  is  natural  for  the  tree  to  bear, 
and  it  is  natural  for  me  to  bring  forth.  Song 
is  the  bird's  God-given  gift,  and  writing  is  mine; 
fruit  is  the  tree's  God-appointed  end,  and  thoughts 
are  mine"  .  .  .  Excellent  all  this  so  far.  But 
the  bird  does  not  say,  Go  to,  let  me  sing  a  song. 
The  tree  does  not  say,  Go  to,  let  me  bear  a  fruit. 
The  bird  does  not  say:  I  have  a  God-given  gift 
within  me,  and  though  I  perish  I  must  pour  forth 
my  divine  song.  The  tree  does  not  say:  I  have 
a  God-given  impulse  upon  me,  and  though  I 
be  stripped  of  mine  all,  I  must  bear  my  fruit. 


The  bird  sings  because  the  great  God  hath 
made  him  to  sing  for  purpose  known  little  to 
bird  and  still  less  to  man.  The  tree  bears  fruit 
for  purpose  known  to  tree  not  at  all,  and  to  man 
only  partly.  But  thou,  Oman,  that  hast  penned 
the  above  excuse,  youth  of  five  and  twenty, 
mature  man  of  five  and  forty,  canst  thou  gaze 
unabashed  into  the  Holy  Presence  and  say: 
"Lo,  as  thou  hast  made  the  bird  to  sing,  the  tree 
to  bear  fruit,  the  one  to  fly  in  the  very  heavens, 
the  other  to  be  rooted  fast  to  earth,  so  hast  thou 
made  me,  O  God,  to  write,  to  print,  to  publish,  to 
make  a  stir,  to  be  discussed,  to  be  projected 
into  space  as  a  Life  ere  I'm  gone  hence,  to  be  pro- 
jected into  Time  as  an  Influence  after  I  am  gone 
hence.  And  here  0  Judge  of  all  Flesh,  is  my 
fruit,  my  song,  my  winged  word,  that  is  to  speed 
itself  henceforth  across  the  ages"?  ...  Is  it 
thus  that  thou  comest  here?     Not  thou,  O  worm! 

Wherefore  then  dost  thou  write?  is  no  longer 
answered  so  lightly.  But  this  is  only  yet  a  half 
view.  The  answer  given  also  says:  "I  know  it 
not."  I  enjoy  the  bird's  song  even  though  I  know 
not  the  wherefore  of  its  singing,  and  would  only 
lose  the  enjoyment  were  I  to  ponder  long  over 
its  Wherefore.  I  enjoy  the  tree's  fruit,  the  un- 
eatable only  less  than  the  eatable.  But  the 
enjoyment  of  both  would  be  speedily  lost  were  I 
to  ponder  long  o'er  the  wherefore  of  the  blossom, 
the  fruit.  Thus  I  know  not  wherefore  I  write ;  but 
since  writing  in  me  is,  and  thus  I  write,  shall  here 
too  the  Wherefore  not  be  inquired  into,  lest  aught 
be  lost  by  unlawful  prying  into  what  is  best 
left  unpryed  into  ? 


Do  I  write  then  solely  as  sings  the  bird,  as 
bears  the  tree  ?  Am  I  then — to  take  in  the  whole 
horizon  of  the  likeness — writing  as  the  lamb  emits 
its  bleating,  because  this  is  lamb-like;  the  ox  his 
bellowing,  becuase  this  is  ox-like;  the  ass  his 
braying,  because  this  is  ass-like;  as  the  swine  is 
grunting,  because  this  is  swine-like?  Am  I  thus 
writing  like  unto  all  these  just  merely  because 
writing  is  I-like?  Clearly,  neither  is  this  yet  the 
whole  of  the  matter. 

A  fragment  I  just  picked  up  among  my  papers 
let  it  furnish  the  true  and  final  answer  about  the 
wherefore  of  my  writing,  about  the  wherefore  of  all 
true  writing : 


"In  jotting  down  a  few  memoranda  about  my 
work  as  literary  craftsman  I  wish  it  distinctly 
understood  that  from  God's  point  of  view,  from 
the  point  of  view  of  one  whose  burning  desire  is 
to  glorify  God  by  his  life  in  every  deed,  word,  and 
thought,  the  point  of  view  of  one  who  would  fain 
be  a  mere  doorkeeper  in  the  house  of  God,  or 
a  mere  hewer  of  wood  and  drawer  of  water  for 
howe'er  small  a  company  of  Christ's  little  ones — 
from  the  point  of  view  of  such  a  one,  I  do  not 
think  literary  work  for  its  own  sake  worth  doing. 
Fiction  and  the  drama,  with  even  truth  as  their 
end,  are  so  steeped  in  falsehood  as  to  leave  even 
the  best  thereof  essentially  unclean.  And  the 
prettier  the  lie's  attire,  the  deadlier  its  snare. 
I  take  this  life  to  be  the  preparation  for  another, 
and  as  fiction  and  speculation  are  surely  not  found 
there,  I  have  no  use  for  them  here. 

"Poesy  has  been  thrust  out  already  even  from 
wise  Plato's  high  estate.     And  with  fiction,  drama, 


poesy,  and  oratory  (a  kind  of  bastard  of  drama  and 
poesy),  betaking  themselves  hence,  literature  is 
henceforth  without  spinal  column.  History,  biog- 
raphy, travels,  belong  rather  to  the  realm  of  pass- 
ing cyclopedia  than  to  that  of  Letters;  their 
store  consisting  solely  of  things  not  temporal, 
but  of  things  eternal,  of  things  of  beauty  that  are 
joy  for  aye.  Essays,  which  are  mere  comments 
on  Life,  Maxims,  which  are  mere  summaries  of 
Life,  and  all  that  lies  between,  aphorisms,  medi- 
tations, letters,  are  thus  all  that  constitutes  pure 
literature  and  undefiled.  But  to  Christian  even 
this  is  mere  luxury,  in  nowise  a  necessity.  And  in 
a  world  that  lieth  in  the  Evil  one,  the  busying 
with  luxuries  is  hardly  fit  and  sober  occupation  for 
the  disciple  of  Him  who  For  this  purpose  was  made 
manifest  that  He  might  destroy  the  works  of  the 
devil.  Not  for  me  then  is  Literature  as  a  life  con- 
stancy. But  in  my  Christian  life  I  have  been 
lone,  and  no  occupation  has  been  vouchsafed  unto 
me  by  which  I  could  feel  that  God  is  glorified  in 
the  labor  of  my  hands. 

''My  literary  labors  have  therefore  been  with 
me  mere  pastime,  which  I  would  fain  have  left 
any  moment  for  aught  that  I  have  deemed  more 

"But  being  thus  driven  back  to  an  occupation 
which  from  the  highest  point  of  view  has  to  me  at 
least  hardly  any  value,  I  was  bound  to  do  the  little 
I  could  with  the  best  that  in  me  was ;  and  this  being 
the  case,  the  world  judging  by  its  own  standard 
must  in  time  find  much  here  worthy  of  its  atten- 
tion even  from  its  own  point  of  view,  as  is  bound 
to  be  the  case  with  all  work  that  is  genuine,  and 
deeply  felt  and  truly  felt." 




My  early  booklets  began  with  the  chapter 
on  Sorrow.  Forthwith  I  was  advised  never  again 
to  begin  my  book  thus :  It  will  not  forsooth  sell  so 

Now  men  have  indeed  itching  ears,  heaping  up 
teachers  to  themselves;  and  they  say  unto  their 
prophets:  "  Prophesy  unto  us  only  smooth 
things!"  For  in  the  things  of  God  folk  prefer 
to  be  asleep,  and  prophets  are  disliked  because 
they  disturb  the  rest.  And  there  has  even  arisen 
a  new  science  so-called,  yea,  a  Religion,  whose 
cardinal  preachment  is:  Think  not  that  Sin, 
Disease,  Evil,  yea  death  itself,  are.  Just  think 
that  they  are  not,   and  lo,   they  cease  to  be!" 

All  this,  however,  is  only  for  silly  folk.  Sober 
souls  know  that  sin  is,  disease  is,  death  is,  evil  is. 
That  by  no  manner  of  somersaulting,  whether 
mental  or  otherwise,  can  these  be  gotten  rid  of. 
Through  the  mercy  of  God  there  is  indeed  escape 
here,  but  not  by  the  turning  of  the  head  away 
therefrom;  rather  by  giving  all  these  first  a  manly, 
unflinching,  full-eyed  look.  And  the  immediate 
result  of  such  wholesome  gaze  is  the  equally 
wholesome — Sorrow.  Not  indeed  the  sorrow  of 
the  world  that  bringeth  death,  but  the  Godly 
sorrow  that  worketh  repentance. 



Nevertheless,  I  follow  the  advice  of  those  well- 
meaning  folk,  and  this  time  begin  my  book  not 
with  Sorrow,  though  for  a  reason  as  far  from  theirs 
as  East  is  from  West. 


I  begin  not  with  Sorrow — even  though  Man  is 
born  unto  Sorrow,  as  the  sparks  fly  upward; 
even  though  Through  many  tribulations  must 
we  enter  the  kingdom  of  God — because  Sorrow  is 
after  all  not  the  Central  fact  of  Life  any  more  than 
Joy  is  its  ultimate  end. 

Happiness,  misery,  howe'er  desirable  the  at- 
tainment of  the  one  and  the  escape  from  the  other, 
are  after  all  life's  episodes,  they  form  in  nowise 
its  eras,  its  epochs.  For  as  the  ways  to  heaven 
and  hell  are  travelled :  the  one  by  those  who  choose 
what  they  should,  the  other  by  those  who  choose 
what  they  would,  so  man's  first  lesson  from  his 
mother's  breast  must  ever  be  that  he  is  here  not 
to  be  happy  first,  but  to  do  his  duty  first;  that  he 
is  here  not  to  have  what  he  would,  but  to  do  what 
he  should. 


The  four  cardinal  points  of  Life  are:  God,  Love, 
Duty,  Sorrow.  But  these  form  not  a  foursquare. 
Life  is  still  a  circle,  but  with  God  for  its  Centre. 
Love  and  Sorrow  are  only  the  two  points  which  de- 
termine its  arc.  Duty  is  the  path  of  the  circle 
travelled  by  Love  and  Sorrow  round  the  great 
God,  the  Centre. 

Accordingly  it  is  with  God  that  I  begin. 

OP   GOD  21 

One  of  the  fatal  vices  of  the  modern  mind  is 
the  revival  of  Don-Quixoteism :  the  rushing  against 
every  windmill  as  a  foe  of  the  race:  changed  in 
our  modern  conditions  to  the  starting  of  "prob- 
lems" where  no  problem  is.  The  "problem"  of 
the  origin  of  the  universe  is  of  this  sort.  To  the 
question,  Who  made  the  world?  only  two  answers 
are  possible :  Either  it  made  itself,  or  a  maker  made 
it — God.  The  wise  of  all  ages  have  ever  shown 
their  wisdom  not  only  in  uniformly  maintaining 
that  the  world  was  created  by  God,  but  also  in 
hardly  even  entertaining  the  thought  that  the 
universe  made  itself.  Things  do  not  make  them- 
selves, they  are  always  made  out  of  aught  else. 
It  is  the  modern  wise  men,  the  philosophers,  that 
have  started  the  "problem :"  How  can  a  world  that 
is  clearly  made  have  been  made  by  one,  when  we 
forsooth,  the  wise  men,  fail  to  see  that  one?  This 
is  the  modern  "insoluble  problem"  as  to  the  origin 
of  the  universe. 

Now  the  modern  problem  raiser  is  irrational; 
though  not  necessarily  in  asserting  that  the 
Creation  of  the  universe  by  God  does  not  give  the 
final  answer  to  the  questioning  of  man  as  to  the 
origin  of  things.  For  on  being  told  that  God  made 
the  world,  the  question  is  not  irrational,  But  who 
made  God?  It  is  admitted  that  the  question  can 
be  raised,  and  that  it  presents  a  difficulty.  But 
the  unreasonableness  of  the  modern  problem 
raiser  consists  in  ignoring  the  vital  fact  that  a  mere 
difficulty  is  not  sufficient  to  be  set  against  a 
manifest  absurdity.     The  question  as  to  the  origin 


of  God  presents  a  difficulty.  The  answer  that 
the  world  made  itself,  even  though  disguised  in 
the  form  of  having  thus  existed  forever,  is  an  ab- 
surdity. A  difficulty  the  human  mind  may 
indeed  confess  and  accept;  an  absurdity  it  can 
only  repudiate,  and  promptly  dismiss.  And  the 
fatal  vice  of  the  modern  mind  is  the  readiness  to 
accept  as  an  "explanation,"  or  "solution,"  a  mani- 
fest absurdity  for  the  sake  of  evading  a  mere 

It  is  a  fact  that  in  the  universe  to-day  Intelli- 
gence is:  in  beast,  in  man.  It  either  always  was 
therein,  or  had  a  beginning  sometime.  If  it 
always  was — before  man,  before  beast — we  have 
God,  the  eternal  God  at  once.  But  if  the  intel- 
ligence now  seen  in  the  universe  had  a  beginning, 
then  starting  with  a  mass  of  stocks,  and  stones, 
hay,  stubble  and  mud,  and  water  and  gas,  we  at 
last,  without  any  adequate  source  or  cause,  get 
intelligence  out  of  rocks;  life  out  of  death,  matter 
out  of  space.  If  this  is  intelligible  or  intelligent 
to  any  let  him  believe  it  if  he  likes;  but  sober  folk 
waste  no  time  therewith. 

With  God,  therefore,  men  must  start,  do  what 
they  may.  What  then  about  God?  Whence 
He?  Well:  Seeing  that  turn  as  I  may,  I  must 
accept  Him,  I  frankly  confess:  I  do  not  know; 
and  am  therewith  content,  for  the  simple  reason 
that  it  is  not  mine  to  know.  God  being  the  maker 
of  all,  He  is  mine  too.  But  the  thing  made  cannot 
comprehend  Him  that  makes,  except  in  so  far 
that  He  chooses  to  make  Himself  comprehensible. 

OF    GOD  23 


My  cat  comprehends  me,  even  though  she  be 
my  inferior;  but  only  up  to  the  point  that  I  choose 
to  make  myself  comprehensible  to  her.  Were  I 
to  stand  motionless  before  her,  heedless  of  her 
mewings,  I  would  be  to  her  that  much  stone. 
My  petting  her,  feeding  her,  and  speaking  to  her, 
raises  her  up  to  me  for  some  comprehension.  But 
even  this  can  be  accomplished  only  within  certain 
feline  limits,  and  these  limits  I  can  narrow  by 
refusal  to  communicate  to  her. 

And  the  relation  of  man  to  God  is  not  unlike 
that  of  the  cat  to  man.  If  God  chooses  to  reveal 
Himself  to  men,  they  can  (and  often  do)  compre- 
hend Him,  but  solely  within  the  limits  set  herein 
to  man.  The  Creator  of  man  must  needs  be 
the  Superior  of  man,  and  man  can  never  compre- 
hend God  wholly  until  made  His  fellow.  And 
unto  this  man  has  assuredly  not  yet  attained. 
Now  how  God  came  at  all  to  be  is  one  of  those 
matters  about  which  God  has  not  seen  fit  to 
communicate  with  man;  and  the  ''problem" 
about  His  origin,  seeing  that  His  existence  has 
to  be  accepted  anyhow,  is  simply  an — imperti- 
nence; in  God's  language  a  piece  of — folly.  Hence 
it  is  that  in  God's  book  (assuming  that  God 
would  have  a  book  of  His  own)  the  wise  men 
of  this  age,  the  philosophers,  who  think  themselves 
entitled  to  raise  thp  question  at  all,  are  called 
bluntly  and  unceremoniously — fools   .    .    . 

If  my  cat  began  to  "reason"  about  me  beyond 
her  milk  and  meat  that  I  give  her,  and  the  oc- 


casional  pat — (which  is  all  she  is  ever  like  to  know 
of  me  in  relation  to  her) — in  the  same  manner  as 
the  wise  of  this  age,  the  philosophers,  *  'reason' ' 
about  God,  and  went  on  to  mew  out  in  cat  books 
to  catdom  her  notions  of  me,  she  would  be  sent 
not  to  the  cattery,  but  to  the  chloroformer. 

That  God  does  not  forthwith  send  jthe  '  'phil- 
osophers" either  to  the  Asylum  (as  in  the  case 
of  Nietsche)  or  to  the  grave  (the  final  destiny 
of  the  rest)  is  what  distinguishes  Him  from  the 
mere  master  of  the  cat.  The  one  is  a  mere 
worm  of  a  man,  the  other  is  GOD,  long-suffering 
and  merciful  to  the  foolishness  of  man,  to  the 
arrogance  of  " philosophers." 

The  central  fact  in  the  history  of  man  is  Christ ; 
the  central  fact  in  the  life  of  men  is  God. 

The  world  itself  and  its  history  is  only  con- 
fusion; one  thing  alone  brings  order  therein — the 
thought  of  God.     All  else  only  adds  to  the  con- 
fusion and  makes  it  at  last  chaos. 

Without  God  all  is  riddle.     With  God  all  is 
not  yet  indeed  intelligible,  but  what  is  intelligible 
is  at  least  intelligent. 

Godliness — the  oculist  par  excellence. 

Nothing  is  great  without  God,  nothing  is  small 
with  God. 

OF    GOD  25 

Faith  in  God  makes  all  things  possible ;  hope  in 
God  makes   all  things   endurable;  love  to   God 
makes  all  things  enjoyable. 

To  depart  from  God  is  indeed  a  calamity;  but 
there  is  a  greater:  to  part  with  God. 

The  sea  has  many  names,  but  is  everywhere  the 
same  salt  water.     Vice  has  many  appellations, 
but  is  everywhere  the  same  departure  from  God. 

The  greatest  sorrow  is  not  to  be  appreciated 
by  men;  the  greatest  misfortune,  not  to  appre- 
ciate God. 

Not  to  appreciate  men  is  our  great  loss  in  this 
life.    Not  to  appreciate  God  is  our  great  loss  also 
in  the  next. 

The    crying    sin    toward   men    is    unkindness, 
which  is  only  inappreciation  of  them.    The  crying 
sin  toward  God  is  ingratitude,  which  is  again  in- 
appreciation of  Him. 

"Were  the  oxen  to  represent  their  God  they 
would  make   Him  jwith  horns!"     Possibly;   but 
friends,  have  you  asked  the  oxen? 

The  pantheist  is  an  atheist  with  a  little  bash- 


I  have  known  noble  folk,  but  without  God. 
The  color  of  the  peach  was  there,  and  much  of  its 
flavor;  but  the  bloom  was  lacking,  and  the  worm 
was    within   .    .    . 


In  the  first  chapter  of  Romans  God  has  a  con- 
troversy with  those  who  know  or  ought  to  know 
Him,  and  give  not  the  glory  due  unto  His  name. 
But  in  all  Scripture  He  hath  not  a  word  of  re- 
monstrance with  those  who  say  There  is  no  God. 
"The  fool  hath  said  in  his  heart,  There  is  no  God" 
is  His  verdict  upon  such,  and  with  fools  it  is  idle 
to  remonstrate. 


My  neighbor  tells  me,  There  is  no  God!  I 
give  him  his  dinner — this  much  I  owe  to  him..  I 
keep  an  eye  on  my  spoons — this  much  I  owe  to 


The  two  great  certainties  of  life  are:  God  in 
heaven,  sorrow  on  earth.  Who  knows  not  yet 
sorrow  is  still  an  ignoramus.  Who  is  still  un- 
certain about  God  is  already  a  fool. 

63-  _ 

The  great  end  of  man  is  to  know;  the  great 
end  of  God  is  to  be  known. 

Who    knows    God   less   than   what   is   in    the 
Bible    will    not    understand    Him.     Who    knows 
God  more  than  what  is  in  the  Bible  will  misunder- 
stand Him. 

OF    GOD  27 

To  know  the  world  one  must  know  God;  to 
know  God  one  need  not  know  the  world. 


True  worship  enjoys  God,  true  religion  pos- 
sesses Him,  true  science  finds  Him,  true  philoso- 
phy seeks  Him. 


Two  men  please  God:  who  loves  Him  with  all 
his  heart  because  he  knows  Him;  who  seeks  Him 
with  all  his  heart  because  he  knows  Him  not. 

God  is  unknowable,  but  only  to  those  who  will 
not  to  know  Him.  God  is  invisible,  but  only  to 
those  who  will  not  to  see  Him.  God  is  unsearch- 
able but  only  to  those  who  wish  to  find  Him  out, 
not  to  those  who  wish  to  find  Him. 

The  surest  way  to  possess  God  is  to  lay  hold  of 
Him.     The  surest  way  to  lose  Him  is  to  try  to 
grasp  Him. 

To  have  God  we  need  not  even  understand  Him. 
To  lose  Him  we  need  only  try  to  define  Him. 

The  godly  are  apt  to  err  in  thinking  that  they 
can  know  all  about  God ;  the  ungodly  err  in  think- 
ing that  they  can  know  nothing  of  God. 

Man's  work  is  not  understood  till  His  intention 
:    is  known.     God's  work  is  never  so  misunderstood 


as  when  His  whole  intention  is  deemed  to  be 

The  more  a  thing  is  in  sight  the  less  apt  it  is 
to  be  seen.     But  God  can  only  then  be  seen  when 
He  is  constantly  looked  if  not  at,  at  least  for. 

To  see  God  in  nothing — that  is  atheism.     To 
see  God  in  everything — that  is  pantheism.     Only 
to  see  God  over  everything,  to  look  for  Him  in 
anything — that  is  true  godliness. 

Familiarity  with   the   noble   breeds   contempt 
thereof;  a  reason  why  God,  ever  ready  to  reveal 
Himself  to  man  is  also  ever  hiding  Himself  from 


The  vice  of  metaphysics  is  its  frantic  attempt 
to  touch  the  so-called  " thing  itself,"  the  German's 
will-of-the-wisp  das  Ding  an  Sick.  But  Nature 
resents  actual  touch,  as  the  pure  Virgin  resents 
unhallowed  embrace.  The  stove  warms  at  an 
interval,  it  burns  when  touched.  It  is  the  very 
nature  of  God  that  while  He  ever  strives  to  reveal 
Himself,  he  ever  hides  Himself  enough  to  remain 
the  invisible  one.  Cloud  and  darkness  are  round 
about  Him  even  when  as  at  Sinai  He  speaks  with 

To  believe  the  evidence  about  God  is  not  yet 
to  believe  God. 

OF   GOD  29 


God  is  not  understood  alike  by  the  wise  and  the 
foolish.  But  the  wise  are  in  the  dark  only  about 
the  punctuation,  the  foolish  misread  also  God's 


Creation  proves  the  existence  of  the  Creator ;  its 
beauty  and  perfection  show  forth  His  power  and 
wisdom.  The  misery  of  His  creatures  displays 
His  holiness.  Only  their  happiness  can  show 
forth  His  love.  And  their  misery  is  but  too  often 
their  needful  preparation  for  the  true  happiness. 

In  Creation  we  see  a  God  of  power;  in  Provi- 
dence, a  God  of  wisdom;  in  the  Law,  a  God  of 
Justice;  in  the  Gospel,  the  God  of  love. 


God  is  to  be  feared  because  of  His  power,  He  is 
to  be  depended  on  because  of  His  justice,  He  is 
to  be  trusted  because  of  His  wisdom,  He  is  to  be 
loved  because  of  His  mercy,  He  is  to  be  adored 
because  of  His  majesty. 

Power  is   honored   by   submission;   merit,    by 
respect;  and  beauty,  by  admiration.     In  God  the 
three  are  to  be  honored  by  worship. 


God  is  entitled  to  faith  from  men  because  of 
the  little  they  know  of  Him.  He  demands  faith 
from  men  because  of  the  much  they  know  not  of 



God's  commands  presuppose  His  wisdom; 
man's  obedience  can  always  prove  it. 


From  Nature  we  learn  that  God  cares  for  the 
mass.  From  Revelation  we  learn  that  he  cares 
also  for  the  individual. 

The  book  of  Nature  is  the  evening  edition,  the 
book   of   Revelation  is   the  morning   edition   of 
God's  message  unto  men.     But  in  both  as  in  the 
newspaper  the  editorial  page  is  the  same. 


Nature  is  best  studied  in  things  natural;  God, 

in  things  spiritual;  and  then  there  is  order.     It  is 

when  God  is  confined  to  the  natural,  and  nature 

imported  into  the  spiritual  that  confusion  begins. 

From  God  men  may  keep  away,  they  cannot 
get  away. 

Who  plans  not  with  God  plans  not  therefore 
without  God. 

Now  and  then  a  desperate  chessplayer  loses 
his  queen  early  in  the  game,  yet  keeps  on  playing 
hoping  against  hope  yet  to  retrieve  the  game. 
Every  one  who  starts  out  in  life  without -God  is 
such  a  desperate  player. 

OF    GOD  31 


In  his  efforts  to  escape  his  misery  apart  from 
God  man  is  like  the  moving  railway  engine: 
travel  it  never  so  fast  it  cannot  leave  the  smoke 
behind  without  new  smoke  ever  hovering  about. 

The  remedies  for  the  ills  of  men  that  have  no 
Christ  in  them  are  like  the  lights  that  glow  in  the 
field  on  summer  nights:  beautiful  in  the  dark, 
until  daylight  reveals  them  to  be  only — bugs. 

We  smile  at  the  Chinese  for  bringing  up  their 
women  with  club  feet.     But  our  education  which 
leaves    God  out  brings  up  not  only  our  women 
but  also  our  men  with  club  feet   .    .    . 

The  most  comfortable  place  for  the  child  is  the 
bosom  of  the  mother;  the  most  natural  place  for 
the  man  is  the  bosom  of  the  Father.  And  as 
much  of  the  babe's  restlessness  is  due  to  separation 
from  the  bosom  of  the  mother,  so  all  of  man's 
restlessness  is  due  to  his  absence  from  the  bosom 
of  the  Father. 

The  Father — the  Divine  over  men;  the  Son — 
the  Divine  for  men ;  the  Spirit — the  Divine  in  men. 


As  long  as  He  was  God  of  the  Jews  only,  Je- 
hovah was  content  to  be  known  only  as  the  One 
Who  Is,  Jehovah  the  one  God.  The  Jews  were 
not  metaphysicians,  and  raised  no  silly  questions. 
But  when  He  becomes  also  the  God  of  the  Greeks, 


He  condescends  to  make  Himself  known  as 
God  Triune.  The  Greeks  were  metaphysicians. 
His  Unity  is  God's  revelation  of  Himself  to  man 
simple,  natural.  His  Trinity  is  God's  condescen- 
sion to  man  complex,  artificial,  God's  long- 
suffering  with  man  even  when  raising  silly 


When  put  under  a  tree  to  enjoy  its  shade  and 
shelter,  to  eat  its  fruit,  and  gather  in  for  winter 
comfort  its  shed  leaves,  and  chop  up  its  withered 
branches  both  for  heat  and  exercise,  and  draw  off 
the  sap  when  flowing,  and  munch  its  bark  when  I 
have  a  cold — I  will  not  fritter  away  my  time  with 
speculations  as  to  the  exact  metaphysical  re- 
lation between  the  root,  the  trunk  and  the 
branches:  whether  the  three  are  one,  or  the  one  is 
three;  or  whether  each  separately  is  the  tree,  or  all 
together.  I  leave  this  ''discussion"  to  such  folk  as 
enjoy  this  sort  of  a  thing.  To  me,  it  is  unattract- 
ive, because  I  think  it  mere  trifling,  even  if  I 
did  not  know  that  the  "discussion"  is  sure  to  end 
in  spoiling  for  me  my  beloved  and  useful  tree   .    . 

When  my  head  and  a  post  are  in  collision, 
it  is  a  delicate  metaphysical  question  whether  I 
hit  the  post  or  the  post  hit  me.  But  the  discussion 
thereof  immediately  after  the  hitting  would  mark 
me  for  the  Asylum.  I  fail  to  see  why  the  dis- 
cussion in  the  abstract  should  not  land  one  there 
as  effectually  as  in  the  concrete. 

Now  the  discussion  of  the  Trinity  as  a  mere 
piece  of  arithmetic  strikes  me  as  on  par  with  the 

OF    GOD  33 


In  their  relation  to  God  men  are  of  three  kinds : 
who  love  not  God — these  are  the  atheists  at  heart, 
whatever  they  be  in  name;  who  love  their  God — 
these  are  the  idolators  at  heart,  whatever  their 
name.  Only  those  who  love  God — these  are  His 
servants  at  heart,  whatever  their  name. 

In  their  relation  to  God  men  have  ever  been 
divided  into  two  classes:  those  who  recognize 
His  presence  and  walk  in  accordance  with  this, 
and  those  who  ignore  His  presence  and  walk  in 
accordance  with  that.  Philosophers  may  divide 
men  into  theists  and  atheists,  into  deists  and 
pantheists,  into  positivists  or  agnostics.  But 
unrefined  simple  division  is  ever  between  the 
Godly  and  the  unGodly,  between  him  that 
hath  regard  to  God,  and  f eareth  Him ;  and  Him 
that  hath  no  regard,  and  thus  despiseth  Him; 
between  him  that  putteth  his  trust  in  God 
because  he  knoweth  his  own  weakness,  and  him 
that  putteth  his  trust  in  himself  because  he  ex- 
ulteth  in  his  own  strength. 


Think  not  too  little  of  others,  and  be  saved  from 
judging  your  fellows.  Think  not  too  much  of 
yourself,  and  be  saved  from  judging  God. 

Tears  before  men  are  a  mark  of  weakness,  tears 
before  God  are  a  mark  of  strength. 

By  falling  before  God  we  rise  toward  Him. 



By  soaring  we  may  rise  toward  the  heaven,  only 
by  stooping  do  we  rise  toward  God. 

Man  is  not  great  till  he  beholds  his  own  littleness. 

Folk  measure  greatness  by  its  ability  to  walk 
erect.     But  God's  great  men  are  those  who  have 
learned  first  to  bow  and  then  to  remain  stooping. 

By  realizing  our  unworthiness  of  God's  love  we 
become  worthy  thereof. 

To  have  our  eyes  open  unto  men  we  must  shut 
them  before  God. 

The  crying  sin  toward  man  is  selfishness ;  toward 
God,  self -righteousness. 

Only  he  can  love  God  who  loves  others  and 
hates  himself. 

It  is  not  true  that  Nature  loves  a  vacuum,  but 
God  does. 

Men's  chief  mistake  is  in  their  ledger.     They 
treat  God  as  one  of  their  debtors,  He  is  only  their 

To  those  who  confess  that  God  owes  them  noth- 
ing He  becomes  debtor  for  everything. 

OF    GOD  35 

To  be  filled  man  must  come  to  God  as  the  bucket 
comes  to  the  well — empty.  And  like  the  bucket 
must  be  content  to  be  first  turned  upside  down. 

We  must  come  to  God  as  children  if  we  are  to 
walk  as  men. 

With  men  we  can  afford  to  be  children   some- 
times.    With  God  we  must  be  children  always. 

A  man's  satisfaction  with  himself  is  to  God's 
satisfaction  with  him  as  the  arms  of  the  scales  are 
to  each  other:  when  one  goes  up  the  other  goes 

Two  men  please  God:  who  prays  confidently  for 
his  need  because  he  trusts  God,  who  prays  timidly 
for  his  need  because  he  distrusts  himself. 

Tears  of  pain  may  draw  men  to  God.     Tears 
of  penitence  draw  God  to  men. 


In  judging  others  the  great  desideratum  is  love ; 
in  judging  ourselves,  humility.  Love  is  justice  to 
man,  humility  is  justice  to  God. 

Men  think  of  God  as  like  themselves,  and  only 
show  thereby  their  ignorance  of  God.       It  is  a 
mark  of  knowledge  of  God  when  men  see  them- 
selves as  most  unlike  God. 



Furrows  are  cut  in  your  heart — then  give  God 
the  opportunity  to  sow  there  the  seeds  of  grace. 

Keep  thyself  a  bruised  reed.     God  will  make 
thee  a  polished  shaft. 

Loneliness  among  men  may  lead  to  self-destruc- 
tion, loneliness  with  God  only  leads  to  self -cruci- 

There  can  be  no  true  peace  with  self  without 
the  death  of  Christ ;  no  true  peace  with  God  with- 
out the  death  of  self. 

Earth  is  empty  without  God,  and  still  more 
empty  with  God   .    .    . 

Satan  brooks  no  superior,  God  has  none. 

God  asks  little  of  men,  but  always  their  best. 

God  gives  men  the  right  beginning  and  assures 
them  of  the  right  ending  if  they  but  do  the  right 

God  is  ready  to  turn  our  water  into  wine,  us  He 
expects  to  keep  it  from  turning  into  vinegar. 

God  sees  to  it  that  there  be  enough  inspirers, 
if  men  but  see  that  there  be  enough  inspired. 

OF   GOD  37 


God  goes  before  and  ploughs,  it  is  for  men  to 
follow  and  plant.  And  the  secret  of  all  jar  and 
discord  in  life  is  that  men  walk  with  one  foot  in 
the  furrow's  crest,  with  the  other  in  its  hollow. 
The  walking  is  jaunty,  and  the  seed  falls  into  the 
wrong  place   .    .    . 


Of  their  income  God  often  deprives  His  children, 
but  never  of  their  capital. 

The  more  one  knows  the  less  he  speaks;  the 
All-Knowing  One  is  thus  the  Great  Silent  One. 


God  is  silent  for  centuries — this  is  His  forbear- 
ance. He  forgets  not  for  a  moment — this  is  His 


God  is  almighty.  He  can  crush  out  sin  and 
rebellion  and  wickedness  in  an  instant.  And  if  I, 
worm  that  I  am,  suffer  so  much  from  the  sight 
and  presence  of  wrong  about  me,  how  much  more 
must  He  who  is  Holiness  itself  suffer,  at  the  sight 
of  sin,  rebellion,  wickedness?  Yet  He  tolerates 
wrong,  and  the  most  terrible  crimes,  not  only 
against  Himself,  but  even  against  innocent  vic- 
tims of  lust,  greed,  pride,  selfishness.  He  has 
tolerated  the  crime  of  crimes  against  His  only, 
well-beloved  Son.  If  He  can  prevent  and  does 
not,  is  He  doing  what  is  right  toward  wickedness? 
Is  He  doing  His  duty  therewith,  if  man  can  at  all 
measure  God's  duty?  Is  not  God  as  it  were, 
partaker  of  wrong  by  permitting  it?    .    .    . 


But  what  if,  by  permitting  wickedness,  and  at 
least  for  a  time  winking  thereat,  and  thus,  in  a 
measure,  becoming  responsible  therefor,  He 
meant  to  show  that  there  is  aught  in  the  Universe 
higher  even  than — Justice  ?  What  if  it  prove  that 
Mercy  and  Love  being  higher  in  God's  sight  than 
even  Justice,  He  doeth  violence  to  His  own 
holiness,  and  endures  wrong,  suffers  under  it, 
willing  even  to  be  held  responsible  for  it  as  One 
who  could  crush  wrong  with  a  mere  nod?  What 
if  this  be  the  true  meaning  of  the  otherwise  dark 
saying  that  before  God  Mercy  rejoiceth  against 
Judgment  ? 


The  mystery  of  Evil?  I  let  it  alone,  as  long  as 
there  is,  thank  God,  no  mystery  whatever  about 

God  does  not  always  hearken,  He  always  hears. 

God  often  shuts  every  door  about  us,  never  the 
door  above  us. 

Can  God  be  moved?     Certainly,  but  only  in 
proportion  to  the  readiness  with  which  you  let 
Him  move  you. 

God  assures  folk  that  He  will  fulfil  his  promises, 
but  not  how. 

God  never  deceives  a  man.     He  does  not  always 
undeceive  him. 

OF    GOD  39 


God  condemns  men  for  what  they  are.     He 
punishes  them  for  what  they  do. 

God's  justice  may  be  expected  to  help  those 
who  help  themselves.     God's  love  may  be  trusted 
to  help  those  who  cannot  help  themselves. 

God  knows  what  we  do  not  know — this  is  our 
consolation.     We  know  not  what  God  knows — 
this  is  our  hope. 

Man  loves  God  for  what  He  can  receive  from 
Him.     God  loves  man  for  what  He  can   give   to 

Human  love  lives  on  what  it  receives,  divine 
love  on  what  it  gives. 

Men  look  upon  the  quantity  of  their  sorrow. 
God,  upon  its  quality. 

Men  measure  a  man's  riches  by  what  he  has. 
God,  by  what  he  has  had. 

Men  draw  the  color-line  at  black,  yellow  and 
brown.     God  draws  it  only  at  scarlet. 

Man  is  satisfied  if  he  has  done  good.     God  is 
not  satisfied  until  man  has  done  well. 


Man  is  not  satisfied  as  long  as  the  charity  is 
only  in  the  heart.  God  is  not  satisfied  as  long  as 
the  charity  is  only  in  the  hand. 

Men  measure  a  gift  by  its  value  to  the  receiver. 
God  measures  it  by  its  value  to  the  giver. 

To  be  wise  before  men  love  must  act  below  what 
it  feels;  to  be  wise  before  God  it  must  act  above 
what  it  feels. 

When  we  are  light-hearted  God  lays  his  burden 
upon  us,  and  we  become  heavy-hearted.     After- 
ward He  gives  lightheartedness  over  that. 


For  the  tears  of  men  God  has  no  uniform 
bottles,  their  size  is  adjusted  to  the  exact  amount 
of  bruising  and  crushing  each  may  need. 

Whenever  we  have  a  need  for  the  satisfying 
of  which  we  have  not  the  means  we  may  be  sure 
that  it  is  not  real.     For  what  is  really  needful  God 
sees  to  it  that  it  be  supplied. 

The  common  man  sees,  if  at  all,  only  the  pres- 
ent; the  uncommon  man  sees  in  the  present  also 
the  past.     God  alone  sees  it  also  as  the  future. 


Polished  one  may  be  by  men,  cleansed  he  must 
be  by  God. 

OF    GOD  41 


Most  of  men's  misery  is  due  as  much  to  per- 
version of  head  as  perverseness  of  heart.  The 
kindly  therefore  ask  charity  for  them.  But  God 
sees  in  perversion  of  head  some  perverseness  of 


I  used  to  doubt  God.  Now  I  only  doubt  my 
knowledge  of  Him. 

x    161. 

I  used  to  wonder  what  use  God  had  for  the 
wicked.  But  since  I  learned  that  hardly  a  page 
can  be  printed  without  the  slanting  Italics,  I  no 
longer  ask  that  question. 

Two   things  pass  my  comprehension:  God  in 
His  wisdom,  man  in  his  folly. 

What  God  does  not  give  man  can  never  gain. 
What  God  does  give  man  can  still  lose. 

.  164. 
Every  vessel  holds  that  best  for  which  it   is 
made.     Man  alone  holds  God  worst. 


All  are  tied  to  God  by  elastic  tethers.  Many 
stretch  theirs  not  enough,  and  fail  to  obtain  much 
that  is  theirs.  More  stretch  theirs  too  far,  and 
break  them — losing  their  all. 

The  one  talent  we  all  have  from  the  least  to 
the  greatest,  is  for  slamming  the  door  in  the  face 


of  Heaven-sent  messengers  when  once  mayhap 
in  a  decade  they  do  come  along  to  one  perchance 
in  a  hundred   .  .  .    . 

Every  one  is  at  first  as  God  made  him,  then 
much  worse.     At  last  God  has  to  remake  him. 

Man's   relation  to   God  is  that   of   a  funnel. 
At  the  brim  the  inspiration  may  be  wide  enough, 
but  man  lets  out  as  if  he  received  only  at  the  point. 

Men  treat  God  as  the  dog  treats  his  master: 
run  before,  run  after  him,  but  have  him  seldom  at 
their  side. 

Love   is  passion  for  the  creature.     It  becomes 
religion  when  it  is  passion  for  the  Creator. 

Only  that  is  true  love  to  God  which  enables  us  to 
love  our  enemies  and  pity  His. 

True  love  to  man  comes  only  after  a  cruci- 
fixion: true  love  to  God,  only  after  a  resurrection. 

Nearly  everything  can  be  handled  with  the 
proper  gloves.  The  love  of  God  shed  abroad  in 
the  heart  by  the  Spirit  covers  the  hands  with  such 


True  love  to  God  brings  our  hearts  nearer  to 
men,  but  removes  our  heads  further  from  them. 

OF    GOD  43 


Hatred  of  Satan  is  a  part  of  religion;  but  the 
underpart.     Love  of  God  is  the  upper. 

It  is  a  mark  of  a  walk  with  God  when  one  is 
slow  to  take  offence  at  any  and  quick  to  give 
offence  to  many. 

True  piety  praises  God  even  for  His  judgments : 
like  the  sandal  wood,  which  imparts  its  fragrance 
even  to  the  axe  which  cuts  it  down. 


Who  clings  to  life  has  not  resigned  his  own  will. 
Who  courts  death  has  not  yet  submitted  to  God's 


By  doing  wrong  you  become  God's  debtor; 
by  suffering  wrong  you  becoma  God's  creditor. 

In  prosperity  men  ask  too  little  of   God.     In 
adversity,  too  much. 

We  can  oft  afford  to  do  in  the  sight  of  God  what 
we  can  not  afford  to  do  in  the  sight  of  men.     We 
can  never  afford  to  do  in  the  sight  of  men  what  we 
cannot  in  the  sight  of  God. 

There  are  two  kinds  of  law:  law  and  lawlessness 
under  the  name  of  law.  The  former  is  everywhere 
an  expression  of  God,  the  latter  is  always  an 
expression  of  Satan.  And  it  is  for  men  to  dis- 
cern law  from  law. 



Demons  also  believe  in  God,  Saints  trust  Him. 


When  hot  iron  is  touched  it  is  the  heat  that  is 
felt  rather  than  the  iron.  When  the  man  of  God 
is  blessing  it  is  the  spirit  of  God  that  gives  the 
blessing,  not  the  man  himself. 

One  is  haunted  by  the  image  of  the  sun  for  some 
time  after  because  of  gazing  too  long  thereon. 
But  when  the  thought  of  God  follows  one  where'er 
he  be,  wbate'er  he  do,  it  is  not  because  He  has 
been  gazed  upon  too  long. 


Do  not  expect  to  know  God's  mind  if  you  know 
not  your  own. 


Only  he  can  afford  to  trust  men  who  trusts  God. 

To  be  delivered  from  all  fear  we  must  have  one 
fear — of  God. 

To  leave  joy  where'er  you  go  is  to  be  faithful 
to  man;  to  find  joy  where'er  you  go  is  to  be  faith- 
ful to  God. 

To  see  God  in  the  things  He  gives  you  is  to  have 
Him  with  you.     To  see  God  in  the  things  He 
takes  from  you  is  to  have  you  with  God. 

OF   GOD  45 


Man  must  first  display  his  love  and  then  his 
holiness.  God  first  displays  his  holiness  and  then 
his  love. 


In  coming  to  God  the  Soul  is  under  the  opposite 
law  as  the  railway  train;  which  may  at  times  be 
late,  but  must  never  be  too  early. 

In  what  they  know  of  God  men  agree  readily 
enough.    It  is  in  what  they  know  not  of  God  that 
I  they  so  disagree. 


Man's  business  is  to  stay  at  the  centre;  God's 
to  see  that  the  circumference  be  widened.  And 
the  closer  man  keeps  to  the  centre,  the  wider  his 


Two  things  are  unchangeable :  God's  holiness, 
Man's  sinfulness. 


The  light  of  the  head  is  cold — mere  electric  dis- 
play. The  light  in  the  heart  is  warm — a  burning 
fire.  The  Light  of  God  as  mere  Light  makes 
atheists  at  the  start.  The  Light  of  God  as  mere 
warmth  makes  atheists  in  the  end.  Only  when 
the  icy  holiness  of  God  is  recognized,  along  with 
His  consuming  Love  do  folk  remain  poised. 

Both  God  and  the  world  disapprove  of  discord 
in  man.     But  the  world  is  content  with  mere 
rhythm.     God  requires  also  harmony. 



To  gain  this  world  much  trust  in  self  is  needed. 
To  gain  the  next,  a  little  trust  in  God  is  enough. 

To  be  happy  in  the  world  one  must  learn  to 
let  go;    to  be  happy  in  God  one  must  learn  to 
hold  on. 

When  man  finds  nothing  in  the  world  to  satisfy 
his  heart  God  is  ready  for  him.    When  man  finds 
nothing  in  his  heart  to  satisfy  the  world,  he  is 
ready  for  God. 

Deserved  praise  exalts  in  man's  sight.     Unde- 
served blame  exalts  in  God's  sight. 

Man's  business  is  to  do  the  right;   God's,  to  see 
that  it  prevail. 

To  be  at  peace  with  mien  we  can  not  afford  to 
have    decided    opinions    on  any  thing;   to  be  at 
peace  with  God,  we  must  have  decided  opinions  on 
many  things. 

When  man  confides  his  secret  unto  us  we  are 
restless  unless  we  keep  it.     When  God  confides 
His    secret   unto   us   we    are   restless   unless   we 
divulge  it. 

I  have  love  when  I  feel  as  God  feels.     I  have 
truth  when  I  see  as  God  sees.     I  have  not  yet 
justice  when  I  judge  as  God  judges. 

OF    GOD  47 

206. l 

In  three  things  men  can  afford  to  be  unlike  God : 
tho'  God  never  hopes,  man  must  ever  hope;  tho' 
God  does  not  forever  love,  man  must  ever  love; 
tho'  God  must  sometimes  judge,  man  must  never 


The  love  that  can  be  repaid  is  more  acceptable 
than  that  which  cannot  be  repaid.  Hence  divine 
love  finds  less  response  than  human  love. 

What  cannot  be  helped  men  endure,  and  this 
they  have  in  common  with  the  beast ;  what  might 
be  helped  men  bear,  and  this  is  peculiar  to  them- 
selves ;  only  what  ought  to  be  helped  men  forbear, 
and  this  they  have  in  common  with  God. 

The  carnal  man  lives  unto  self;   the  moral  man 
may  live  also  unto  others ;  the  spiritual  man  lives 
only  unto  God. 

The  fool's  problem  is  solved  when  he  is  satisfied 
with  himself;     the   wise   man's   problem   is   not 
solved  till  he  is  satisfied  with  God. 

The  freest  man  is  he  who  is  made  a  captive  of 
God  and  is  then  captivated  by  God. 

Two  things  hide  the  stars:     the  clouds  of  the 
night,  the  light  of  the  day.    Two  things  hide  God : 
deep  adversity,  high  prosperity. 



A  joke  is  the  lowest  kind  of  wit  because  God 
never  jokes. 


Atheism  also  has  its  hell  for  those  it  damns; 
only  it  is  of  ice  instead  of  fire. 


Some  things  we  know  to  be  for  God's  glory — 
these  we  must  do.  Some  things  we  know  to  be 
not  for  God's  glory — these  we  must  not  do.  Some 
things  are  apparently  indifferent  and  make  neither 
for  nor  against  God's  glory — these  we  may  do, 
but  only  after  praying  that  these  also  prove  unto 
God's  glory. 


I  read  of  a  man  who  was  in  search  of  information 
about  Napoleon.  He  went  to  a  library,  and  looked 
at  the  card  catalogue.  At  " Napoleon"  he  was 
told  to  look  under  "Bonaparte."  At  "Bonaparte" 
he  was  told  to  look  under  'Buonaparte."  At 
"Buonaparte"  he  was  told  to  look  under  'French 
Revolution.'  Under  "French  Revolution"  he  was 
told  to  look  under  "France."  Under  "France"  he 
was  told  to  look  under  "History."  When  he  at 
last  got  to  "History,"  he  had  the  satisfaction  of 
seeing  that  here,  at  least  he  would  not  have  to 
go  to  something  else;  for  here  were  indeed  the 
countries  arranged  alphabetically.  Here  were 
America,  Austria,  Brazil,  Denmark,  England  and 
— France?  No.  France  by  some  mistake  was  mis- 
placed into  another  part  of  the  catalogue,  and  the 
inquirer  after  Napoleon  had  at  last  to  ask  an  at- 
tendant for  the  book  he  desired.      This  he  at  last 

OF    GOD  49 

got  in  a  fraction  of  the  time  it  took  him  to  look 
in  the  catalogue. 

The  man  was  of  course  much  vexed  at  the  an- 
noyance caused  by  what  he  branded  as  stupidity 
on  the  part  of  the  library  authorities.  Being 
rather  good-natured,  he  after  a  while  laughed  at 
the  incident  as  he  told  it  to  others.  But  being  also 
somewhat  of  a  philosopher  he  reflected  a  little  on 
the  matter,  and  found  soon  that,  whether  there  be 
here  tragedy  or  comedy,  most  men  are  acting  out 
the  same  occurrence  in  their  own  lives,  where, 
however,  whatever  else  it  may  be,  comedy  it 
surely  is  not. 

Here  is  a  man  running,  running  very  hard, 
running  for  a  train.  He  catches  his  train  as  it  is 
just  rolling  out  of  the  station;  is  dragged  along  a 
little,  as  the  train  goes  already  rather  fast;  the 
kind  brakeman  helps  him  in,  and  at  last  he  is 
seated  in  the  car,  out  of  breath,  all  in  perspiration. 
Took  risk  of  heart  disease  in  running,  takes  risk 
of  pneumonia  now  in  sitting. 

"Well,  friend,  glad  to  see  you  have  caught  your 
train.     What  were  you  running  for  so? 
"O,  I  wished  to  get  home,  of  course!" 
"And  what  will  you  do  when  you  get  home?" 
"Eat  my  supper  and  get  rested  from  my  day's 

' 'And  what  when  rested  from  your  day's  work?" 
"Why,  I  shall  be  able  to  work  to-morrow,  of 

"O,  I  see;  but  what  do  you  work  for  to-morrow, 

"Why,  to  earn  a  living,  of  course." 
"Ah,  I  understand.    But  may  I  ask,  if  I  be  not 
deemed  intrusive,  just  what  is  it  that  you  are 
— living  for?" 


And  the  man  is  rather  nonplussed. 

You,  dear  reader,  are  not,  of  course,  so  foolish 
as  to  run  for  trains  and  incur  heart  disease  by 
running  and  pneumonia  by  sitting.  You  take 
things  more  coolly;  you  are  calmly  arranging 
your  tie  before  the  glass.  Yes,  it  is  excellent,  that 
tie,  I  mean;  and  well  tied  it  surely  is;  but  pray 
tell  me,  what  are  you  tying  that  tie  for? 

"O,  to  be  dressed,  to  be  sure." 

' 'And  what  do  you  wish  to  be  dressed  for,  pray  ?" 

"To  keep  warm,  of  course,  and  to  appear  well.'" 

"Exactly;  but  what  are  you  so  anxious  to  keep 
warm  for?" 

"Why — don't  you  see? — to  keep  well." 

"That  is  so,  stupid  that  I  am ;  but,  if  you  please, 
just  what  is  it  that  you  wish  to  keep  well  for?" 

"You  don't  mean  to  mock  me;  why,  I  strive  to 
keep  well,  because — because  I  wish  to  live." 

"0,  I  see,  but  just  what  is  it  that  you  are  so 
anxious  to  live  for?" 

And  here  also  the  answer  is  not  so  ready. 

Those  library  officials  were,  after  all,  only  hu- 
man. When  they  at  last  got  to  France,  they  for- 
got to  put  it  in  the  right  place;  and,  when  most  of 
us  get  to  our  France,  we  are  apt  to  forget  to  put  it 
in  the  right  place,  too. 

"What  is  the  chief  end  of  man?"  was  the  first 
question  in  the  stern  old  catechism;  and  the 
equally  stern  answer  was,  "Man's  chief  end  is  to 
glorify  God,  and  enjoy  Him  forever."  Glorify 
God,  and  enjoy  God,  and  forever — rather  strange 
words  in  these  days;  but  the  Bible  standard  still 
is,  "Whether  therefore  ye  eat  or  drink,  or  whatso- 
ever ye  do  do  all  to  the  glory  of  God"  ALL. 

OF    GOD  51 


The  great  secret  of  walking  in  white  with  God 
is  not  to  stagger  at  His  exceeding  great  promises. 
Stagger  not  at  a  walk  as  the  Master  walked; 
we  are  exhorted  thereto;  nor  at  a  purity  as  He 
is  pure ;  it  is  expected  of  us ;  nor  at  perf ectness  as 
the  Father  is  perfect;  it  is  commanded  us;  nor 
at  being  filled  with  the  Spirit ;  it  is  enjoined  upon  us. 

If  the  Master  saith,  "All  things  are  possible 
to  him  that  believeth,"  believe  it;  if  He  assures 
that  thou  shalt  do  even  greater  works  than  His 
own,  believe  that  too.  If  the  Spirit  saith,  "All 
things  are  yours,"  stagger  neither  at  this.  If 
thou  find  it  writ,  "  Whoso  is  begotten  of  God 
doeth  no  sin,  because  his  seed  abideth  in  him, 
and  he  cannot  sin,  because  he  is  begotten  of  God," 
believe  it,  because  "  whatsoever  is  not  of  faith 
is  sin." 

You  may  not  understand  this;  it  matters 
naught;  believe  it.  You  may  not  see  this; 
it  matters  not;  believe  it.  You  may  not  feel 
this;  no  matter;  believe  it.  For  without  faith 
it  is  impossible  to  please  God.  Christian  is  to 
be  born  by  faith,  live  by  faith,  walk  by  faith. 

The  method  of  the  children  of  this  age  is,  I 
see;  therefore  I  believe.  The  method  for  the 
children  of  the  age  to  come  is,  Believe,  and  thou 
shalt  see.  The  blessing  of  the  risen  Lord  is  pro- 
nounced not  upon  him  who  hath  believed  because 
he  hath  seen,  but  upon  him  who  hath  believed 
even  though  he  hath  not  seen.  And  to  the  ques- 
tion, "  What  must  we  do  that  we  may  work 
the  works  of  God?  "  the  answer  comes,  "  This  is 
the  work  of  God  that  ye  put  your  trust  in  Him 
whom  He  hath  sent." 


Distrust  your  friends:  the  Lord  Himself 
trusted  Himself  to  no  man,  for  that  He  knew 
what  was  in  man.  Distrust  your  own  self;  the 
heart  of  man  is  desperately  sick,  and  deceitful 
above  all  things.  Distrust  your  own  senses,  if 
need  be;  these  with  all  else  that  is  visible  shall 
pass  away;  but  do  not  distrust  the  word  of  Him 
who  hath  said,  "  Heaven  and  earth  shall  pass 
away,   but  my  words  shall  not  pass  away." 

The  silence  of  God  is  Christian's  most  perplex- 
ing and  hence  sorest  trial.  When  in  this  valley, 
one  easily  believes  that  the  great  God  hath 
turned  His  face  away  for  aye.  There  then  remains 
only  the  consolation  that  He  was  silent  also 
to  the  Syrophenician  woman,  and  called  her  even 
dog.  Yet  the  cry  of  her  heart  was  answered  the 
very  next  moment.  Not  easily  understood  is 
Christian's  God;  and  one  may  as  well  accept 
Him  with  all  His  ways  past  finding  out  though 
they  be ;  and  keep  on  still — trusting.  ' '  Impossible 
it  is  to  please  Him  without — trust"   .... 

The  main  thing  is  to  be  at  all  times  sober,  and 
above  all — true.  When  the  great,  good  yet 
Holy  God  does  give  a  stunning  blow,  let  us  be 
manly  about  it,  and  honestly  own  that  His 
hand  it  was  that  smote,  and  not  some  interloper's, 
while  the  Great  God  Himself  was  on  His  vacation 
or  asleep.  And  neither  must  we  stultify  ourselves, 
and  perchance  even  mock  Him,  and  cast  away 

OF   GOD  53 

both  divine  dictionary  and  human  by  calling  a 
stunning  blow  a  love  pat  from  Father's  hand. 
Much  foolish  chatter  there  is  hereabout  in 

When  Peter  found  himself  denying  his  Lord, 
or  convicted  of  dissembling,  he  hardly  turned  his 
face  upward  with  a  "  Well,  in  everything  give 
thanks!  "  even  though  there  is  a  time  when  one 
can  be  thankful  for  even  sin.  And  when  Paul 
found  at  last  his  thrice  uttered  prayer  unanswered, 
he  hardly  forthwith  clapped  his  hands  in  joy 
with:    "  Well,  rejoice  alway!  " 

Beware  then  against  working  oneself  up  into 
a  pitch  of  sanctified,  or  rather  sanctimonious 
stoicism,  the  strength  in  the  mere  flesh  and  wor- 
ship of  will,  where  it  smacks  much  of  that  notorious 
(anti)  "  Christian  Science  "  with  its  ostrich 
behavior  toward  disease  and  pain.  No,  the  God 
of  sober  Christian  is  first  of  all  the  God  of  Truth ; 
of  love  and  mercy  only  afterwards  .... 

God  has  a  way  of  afflicting  folk  rather  un- 
expectedly when  certain  prayer  is  being  offered 
for  their  welfare.  Perhaps  this,  is  what  they  need 
first:  a  pruning  away  of  all  mere  wood;  a  cutting 
of  all  the  tendrils  that  hold  them  to  this  life,  a 
throwing  out  of  the  ballast  that  hinders  the  rise 
heavenward.  "  Whom  the  Lord  loveth  He 


"  Dost  thou  curse  thy  fate  for  thy  misfortune? 


But  where  stands  it  writ  that  thou  shalt  be  happy  ? ' ' 
This  the  mature  author  who  finds  it  among  his 
youthful  doings,  marks  worthless.  Even  apart 
from  reasons  of  style,  La  Rochefoucault's  "We 
all  have  sufficient  strength  for  enduring  the  mis- 
fortunes of — others  "  would  alone  suffice  to  bid 
one  discard  such  heartless  bit  of  exhortation.  But 
the  thought  that  the  Great  God,  at  least  in  this 
dispensation  not  of  works  but  of  grace,  hath 
nowhere  pledged  Himself  to  give  man  happiness: 
which  means  only  things  as  you  would  have  them 
— is  to  be  held  on  to.  And  if  commonplace  it  be, 
it  is  but  too  often  forgot :  like  much  else  that  we 
constantly  fail  to  see  because  it  is  so  much  in 
our  sight. 

True  piety  praises  God  even  for  His  judgments: 
like  the  sandal  wood,  which  imparts  its  fragrance 
even  to  the  axe  that  cuts  it  down. 




The  highest  criticism — must  it  be  occupied  more 
with  the  pointing  out  of  defects  than  of  merits, 
more  of  blemishes  than  of  beauties?  I  answer 
'Yes'  but  only  for  to-day;  in  nowise  for  all  the 

The  living  room  has  its  beauties,  and  even  the 
death  chamber  hath  its  beauties.  But  by  no 
manner  of  even  the  saccharinest  charity  can  real 
beauty  be  evolved  out  of  the  sick  chamber.  That 
ever  remains  esthetically  only  a  mere  endurability. 
Clean  and  sweet  it  may  be  kept,  but  ever  with 
reminder  of  carbolic  acid,  if  not  chlorides  of  lime, 
or  even  sulphur  itself.  Wise  physician,  faithful 
nurse,  even  gentle  patient  himself,  are  here  of  but 
little  .avail ;  sick-chamber  ever  remains  what  it  is, 
a  mere  aspiration  toward  estheticity,  a  bare  hope, 
too  oft,  alas!  a  beclouded  hope  for  yet  better 

Now  our  age  is  essentially  a  sickly  age,  in  Letters 
and  Art  even  a  sick  age.  And  the  highest  criticism 
simply  takes  due  note  of  that  mournful  fact ;  and 
its  tone  is,  of  necessity,  not  that  of  the  athlete 
joying  in  the  exuberance  of  health  and  beauty, 
but  rather  that  of  the  bland  physician  with  his 
pellet  and  instrument  case,  that  of  the  cheery 
nurse  with  her  bottle  and  spoon 



But  this  rather  undesirable  attitude  of  the  high- 
est criticism  applies  only  to  the  smaller  half  on 
one  side  of  the  line,  not  to  the  larger  half  on  the 
other  side.  The  advent  of  the  Christ  into  the 
visible  Universe  not  only  rearranged  the  map  of 
the  world  whose  things  pertain  unto  heaven,  but 
it  also  erected  a  most  revolutionary  standard  for 
all  the  things  pertaining  unto  earth ;  and  little  as 
it  may  appear  on  the  surface,  the  advent  of  the 
Lord  Christ  established  among  other  things  also 
a  new  era  of  Criticism  in  Letters  and  Art. 


For  at  night  the  stars  do  indeed  differ  in  glory : 
There  is  Sirius  and  Procyon,  Vega  and  Arcturus, 
Capella  and  Aldebaran;  Rigel  and  Betelgeuse; 
these  shine  with  a  magnitude  of  their  own,  and 
are  in  the  first  rank.  Then  there  is  Arided  in  the 
Cross,  and  the  Dipper  Stars  in  the  Bear;  these, 
with  others,  shine  in  the  second.  There  are  still 
others  in  the  third,  fourth,  down  even  to  the  sixth 
rank,  still  discernible  to  the  naked  eye.  But  once 
let  the  sun  rise,  and  the  sixth,  and  the  fifth,  and 
the  second,  and  the  first  magnitudes,  yea,  even 
Jupiter  and  Venus  themselves,  forthwith  pale  into 
uniform  vanishing,  with  utter  disregard  of  their 
respective  claims  as  to  brilliancy  in  relation  to  one 
another.  Now  in  the  pre-Christian  night,  Homer 
and  Plato,  Aeschylus  and  Demosthenes,  Herodo- 
tus and  Thucydides,  Virgil  and  Cicero,  Terence 
and  Livy,  Tacitus  and  Aurelius,  are  indeed  stars 
of  the  first  magnitude,  and  right  nobly  do  these 
fulfil  their  part  in  giving  light  to  the  darkness 
about  them. 

LETTERS    AND    ART  57 


Looking  for  defects  here  is  ungracious  indeed. 
These  have  faithfully  held  to  the  task  assigned 
them,  and  the  critic  can  well  joy  in  the  cheery,  as 
well  as  chivalrous  task  of  pointing  out  their  honest 
work,  their  starry  size.  For  the  so-called  classics, 
therefore,  the  highest  criticism  has  only  one  voice : 
praise  where  praise  can  be  given;  silence,  where 
praise  must  be  withheld. 

But  with  the  rising  of  the  Sun  of  Righteousness 
with  healing  in  His  wings,  an  Eternal  standard  is 
erected;  an  Everlasting  Gospel  is  proclaimed,  to 
which  all  that  lives  in  sight  thereof  is  henceforth 
bidden  rather  sternly  at  the  peril  of  its  life  to 
conform,  and  take  the  consequence  if  conform  it 
does  not.  And  were  modern  Letters  and  Art  to 
hold  to  mere  Letters  and  Art,  it  were  indeed  well 
with  them.  But  far  other  is  the  case.  For  Homer 
and  Virgil  never  pretend  to  be  aught  more  than 
poets;  Aeschylus  and  Terence  are  only  drama- 
tists; Plato  was  a  mere  philosopher;  Herodotus 
a  mere  historian.  Each  of  these  accepted  the 
Universe  and  its  order  as  he  found  it.  None  of 
these  undertook  to  turn  Universe  back  in  its  course 
in  order  to  make^  it  keep  time  with  their  own 
pocket  time-pieces.  But  Shelley  is  not  a  mere 
singer;  Emerson  is  not  a  mere  plier  of  needle  and 
thread,  a  stitcher  together  of  aphorisms  into 
"Essays."  Lessing  is  not  a  mere  critic;  Arnold  is 
not  a  mere  elevator  lifter  in  the  coal-mine ;  Goethe 
is  not  a  mere  Giant  of  a  Jack  of  all  literary  trades. 
Even  our  own  impotent  piece  of  genialty  is  not 
content  to  remain  a  mere  teller-forth  of  his  endless 


tales.  Each  of  these  in  his  own  way  attempts  with 
rather  high  pretense  to  be  a  guide  of  the  blind, 
a  teacher  in  Israel,  a  world  reformer,  a  new  Joshua 
crying  unto  the  Sun,  ''Stand  thou  still  upon 
Gibeon;"  and  unto  the  Moon,  "Be  thou  silent 
over  Aijalon's  Valley,"  till  Universe  hath  reversed 
its  course  at  my  bidding,  and  hath  at  last  moored 
itself  at  its  berth  of  my  assigning. 

Forsaking  as  these  do  the  realm  assigned  them 
as  unquestionably  theirs  in  the  elaboration  of 
essays,  aphorisms  and  diverse  rhythmic  lines,  and 
betaking  themselves  to  prophesying,  at  times 
even  in  the  name  of  the  Most  High,  they  forthwith 
challenge  the  highest  criticism  to  look  into  their 
lordly  pretensions;  and  need  I  say,  that  with  the 
standard  once  for  all  set  up  by  Him  who  is  Truth 
Incarnate,  short  work  is  readily  made  with  all 
such.  Tenderly,  but  firmly,  they  are  all  shoved 
back  into  the  naught  whence  they  came :  Gently, 
but  emphatically,  they  are  told:  Friends,  in  the 
harmless  realm  of  rhythm,  cleverness  and  bril- 
liancy, frolic  indeed  at  your  heart's  content;  but 
as  to  this  trespassing  of  yours  into  the  domain 
divine  of  teaching  Truth  apart  from  Him  who  is 
the  Truth — thus  far  shall  ye  go,  but  no  farther.  .  . 

Now  hardly  a  modern  artist  but  he  is  a  gigantic 
trespasser  upon  a  domain  not  his,  and  in  a  manner, 
moreover,  which  can  only  end  in  a  rather  uncere- 
monious hustling  out.  And  what  highest  criticism 
is  doing  is  the  giving  of  notice  to  Rousseau  and 
Voltaire ;  to  Spinoza  and  Spencer ;  to  Goethe  and 

LETTERS    AND    ART  59 

Lessing;  to  Shelley  and  Kant;  to  Tennyson  and 
Browning;  to  Emerson  and  Carlyle;  to  Ruskin 
and  Arnold;  to  Hugo  and  Tolstoy,  that  even  for 
such  trespassers  upon  unlawful  domain  there  is 
unceremonious  hustling  off  in  store.  This  is, 
indeed,  doing  a  rather  disagreeable  piece  of  police 
work  under  the  orders  of — Truth.  And  though 
the  task  of  serving  as  Truth's  Policeman  is,  at 
best,  a  thankless  one,  it  is  something  to  be  even 
this,  if  only  against  these  veritable  field-marshals 
in  the  Empire  of  Error 

232.     ; 

Genius  is  talent  concentrated.    Talent  is  genius 

Everyone  may  have  a  flash  of  genius  once  a 
year.    The  man  of  genius  husbands  these  rare  oc- 
casions, focussing  them  in  due  time  upon  the  one 
great  occasion. 

Genius  is  like  the  cask  at  the  top  of  a  hill :    with 
but  gentle  push  rolls  of  itself.     Talent  is  like  the 
load  on  the  roadway:     will  not  forward  unless 

Talent  may  be  buried  in  a  napkin ;  genius  cannot 
be  choked  under  a  mountain. 

Can  he  write  in  a  palace  as  well  as  in  a  hovel? 
Then  he  has  genius.    Can  he  write  better?    Then 
he  has  only  talent. 



The  half  genius  makes  the  new  discovery.  The 
whole  genius  invents  also  the  method  for  making 
it  effectual. 


Talent  is  only  a  tool,  the  genius  is  in  rightly 
using  it. 

The  genius  is  the  man  of  talent ;  only  he  makes 
ten  therewith. 

The  genius  is  the  man  not  of  one  talent  but  of 
several;   only  he  is  like  the  Pullman  train,  which 
consists  of  separate  coaches,  but  vestibuled  to- 

The  genius  is  the  man  of  exceptivity.    The  man 
of  talent  knows  when  to  apply  the  rule,  the  man 
of  genius,  when  to  make  the  exception. 

Talent  uses  opportunities;  genius  makes  them. 

The  man  of  talent  can  oft  be  a  leader,  the  man 
of  genius  will  not  always  be  a  guide ,  oft  only  a 

A  man's  talent  is  as  often  his  spiritual  failure  as 
his  temporal  success. 

Even  the  small  talent  becomes  great  with  much 
use;   even  the  great  talent  becomes  small  with  a 
little  abuse. 

LETTERS    AND    ART  6 1 


Every  man  of  talent  is  a  kind  of  coal  mine  with 
the  decision  for  him  whether  it  shall  send  forth 
warmth  and  light,  or  only  soot  and  smoke. 

Most  men  are  mere  tendencies  all  their  lives; 
it  is  the  mark  of  a  man  of  genius  that  he  is  an  ac- 
complished fact  from  the  moment  he  is  born. 

Of  two  men  dressed  alike  a  slight  tip  of  the  hat 
oft  determines  the  difference  in  their  station  of 
life.  And  the  difference  between  the  clever 
writer  and  the  man  of  genius  is  chiefly  in  the  tip 
of  the  hat. 


That  is  a  man's  passion  which  he  cannot  let 
alone;  that  is  a  man's  genius  which  lets  not  him 


The  man  of  Wit  emits  only  sparks,  a  genius 
must  emit  flashes.  Of  sparks  even  many  make  a 
poor  light,  of  flashes  even  one  may  light  up  the 


To  do  great  things  with  the  same  ease  as  small 
things,  to  do  small  things  with  the  same  care  as 
great  things — this  is  genius. 


Genius  is  common  sense  in  full  dress. 

Genius   the   capacity   for   taking   pains?     But 
folk  take   as  much   pains   to  make   themselves 


miserable  as  to  make  themselves  happy.     Genius 
is  the  capacity  for  taking  the  right  pains. 

An  axiom  is  indefinable  truth;  the  genius  is  the 
axiomatic,  indefinable  man. 

That  is  genius  which  does  naturally  and  easily 
what  talent  does  acquiredly  and  laboriously. 

No  true  artist  can  b2  a  bad  man;  unfortunately 
the  bad  man  speedily  undoes  the  artist. 

A  gentleman  will  not  clear  at  a  bound  what 
he  can  traverse  by  a  walk.  The  artist  must  not 
traverse  by  a  walk  what  he  can  clear  at  a  bound. 
Is  the  artist  then  not  a  gentleman?  Yes,  indeed, 
but  he  is  allowed  to  bound  because  he  is — 

In  every  art  there  is  what  any  one  may  attain 
to — this    makes    the    craftsman.     In    every    art 
there  is  what  he  alone  can  attain  to — this  makes 
the  artist. 

The  tailor  makes  the  garment  out  of  the  whole 
cloth;  the  artist,  even  out  of  fragments. 

The   artist   builds   a   house   for  his   thoughts; 
the  bungler,  a  tomb. 

LETTERS    AND    ART  63 


The  artist  must  be  like  the  fire-fly;  which  no 
sooner  spreads  its  wings  than  it  glows. 


It  is  for  the  artist  to  express  himself  first  truly 
and  then  beautifully.  It  is  for  the  audience  to 
receive  it  first  reverently  and  then  lovingly. 


Nature  is  art  displayed.  Art  is  Nature  re- 


The  Creation  of  beauty  must  indeed  begin 
in  passion,  it  can  continue  only  in  repose,  it  is 
completed  only  in  ease. 


Edgar  Allen  Poe  gives  somewhere  a  dismally 
mechanical  account  of  how  ''The  Raven"  came 
to  be "  constructed.  It  was  duly  and  orderly 
joined,  dove-tailed  and  cemented  together.  In 
that  account  the  foundation  is  laid  before  the 
reader's  eye,  with  plumbline,  drill,  mortar,  and 
the  rest ;  and  the  very  clink  of  the  iron  against  the 
stone  is  heard.  Yonder  is  meanwhile  put  to- 
gether the  upper  portion;  when  lo,  at  the  push  of  a 
button  a  crane  turns,  and  the  huge  fabric  is  seen 
to  swing  and  roll  gracefully  toward  the  founda- 
tion, and  settle  at  last  placidly  but  firmly  thereon. 
The  several  highly  wrought  yore,  Leonore,  o'er, 
door,  more,  are  at  last  safely  lodged  on  that  solid 
masonry  of —  Nevermore. 

Now  I  take  the  Raven  to  be  a  true  poem,  and 


therefore  born  in  Poe's  soul  and  nursed  from  his 
breast,  and  writ  with  the  life  blood  of  his  heart, 
rather  than  laboriously  ground  out  through  his 
mechanical  intellect.  I  take  therefore  the  poet's 
account  thereof  to  be  an  afterthought:  just 
as  Schiller's  Letters  on  Don  Carlos,  which  are 
parallel  with  this  account  of  the  Raven,  are  a 
production  of  the  metaphysical  professor  Herr 
von  Schiller,  whereas  Don  Carlos  itself  is  the 
work  of  the  poet  Friedrich  Schiller.  For  a  work 
of  genius  comes  ever  forth,  like  Minerva  from 
Jupiter's  head,  fully  armed.  In  minor  details  it 
may  indeed  bear  a  touch  here,  a  touch  there; 
but  when  forth  it  comes,  it  is  already  fused, 

In  fact  the  difference  between  Talent  and 
Genius  is  here:  Talent  can  build  a  machine 
such  as  Cincinnati  is  reported  to  have:  where  a 
live  hog  is  put  in  at  one  end,  and  out  comes  a 
sausage  at  the  other.  While  Genius  merely 
unfolds  in  fulness  what  has  ever  been  there  in 
embryo :  like  the  plumtree  at  my  window.  It  will 
take  some  months  to  make  them  visible,  but  the 
plums  are  already  in  the  tree,  and  visible  enough 
to  the  eye  sufficiently  microscopic. 

In  composition  labor  and  toil  can  improve  only 
the  form,  not  the  thought  itself.  The  thought 
is  the  soul,  which  ever  remains  a  unit,  with  naught 
to  be  added  thereto;  the  form  is  the  flesh,  the 
tabernacle  large  or  small,  for  the  thought  to 
dwell  in.  No  great  work  is  indeed  ever  done 
without  toil,  but  it  is  not  the  thought  that  requires 

LETTERS    AND    ART  65 

the  pains.  To  a  noble  heart  the  noble  thought 
comes  as  the  friend  to  the  feast — uninvited. 
It  is  the  expression  that  is  oft  the  stranger,  and 
needs  to  be  coaxed. 


The  meatman  when  selling  the  juicy  steak 
first  cuts  off  the  whole  slice  for  which  he  charges 
full  weight.  He  then  proceeds  to  cut  off  the  bone 
and  the  fat,  and  delivers  to  his  customer  some  half 
of  what  he  paid  for;  and  both  buyer  and  seller 
are  content.  This  is  the  relation  between  or- 
dinary discourse  and  Aphorism. 

The  aphorism  is  the  clear,  juicy  meat,  ready  to 
eat,  with  the  trimmings  of  the  continuous  dis- 
course cast  away,  without  however  any  price 
being  set  upon  them. 


The  brilliant  remark-  in  consecutive  discourse — 
what  is  it  but  the  lightning  flash  in  the  natural 
course  of  the  storm,  a  mere  accompaniment,  an 
incident?     The  great  aphorism  is  the  shining  star. 

I  do  not  complain  of  the  star-lit  sky  that  its 
suns  are  not  in  apparent  orderly  array.  I  am  too 
content  with  the  assurance  that  I  am  dealing 
here  with  immense  worlds,  immense  lights, 
fires   .    .    . 

I    have    a   friend   who    oft   remarks    at    some 
striking    thought,   "But    this    is    not    original!" 
She  has  no  farm  of  her  own,  and  buys  her  butter. 


But  I  never  heard  her  ask  the  dealer  whether  he  is 
raising  his  own  cows   ... 

Where  did  I  get  my  thought?     Ah,  friend,  if 
you  could  only  tell  me  from  what  ox  I  got  my 

Have  others  said  before  me  what  I  say  here? 
Then  so  much  the  better  for  them  as  well  as  for  me. 


Originality  I  take  to  be  one  of  those  mischievous 
expressions  which  like  self-respect,  liberty,  progress, 
refinement,  are  the  brooms  in  the  hands  of  the 
dwellers  in  the  sandy  desert  wherewith  they  raise 
a  dust  storm  of  their  own.  And  its  use  becomes 
a  kind  of  passport  by  which  every  third,  fifth, 
tenth  grade  of  intellect  attests  itself  as  a  denizen 
of  cloud  and  mist  land.  A  discussion  about 
originality  makes  memorable  at  least  one  of  the 
otherwise  worthless  doings  of  a  rather  loud  popular 
literary  wag.  Said  he  to  an  elaborately  discours- 
ing bishop:  "Sir,  I  have  a  book  at  home  which 
contains  ever}^  word  of  your  discourse."  The 
astounded  prelate  vehemently  denies  plagiarism, 
and  demands  that  the  remarkable  book  be  forth- 
with produced.  The  book  is  produced,  and  the 
charge  proves  true;  the  book  is  the— Diction- 
ary  .    .    . 


As  long  as  the  axe  which  the  prophet  made  to 
float,  and  the  penny  with  which  the  Lord  con- 
founded the  Pharisees,  were  borrowed,  you  can 
safely  ignore  the  taunt,   "But  this  is  not  origin- 

LETTERS    AND    ART  67 

al!"     The  maker  of  candles — must  he  be  ever 
raising  his  own  tallow? 

A  thought  is  certainly  mine  if  old  to  me,  and 
assent  makes  it  mine  even  if  new  to  me. 

Who  seeks  to  say  what  is  new  will  surely  repeat 
what  is  old.     But  who  earnestly  reaffirms  the  old 
can  hardly  help  saying  aught  new. 

The  original  man  is  the  most  uncommon  man. 
But  what  makes  him  original  is  that  he  has  most 
in  common  with  men. 


The  great  writer  borrows  when  he  reads, 
but  returns  it  when  he  writes.  The  small  writer 
also  borrows  when  he  reads,  but  merely  turns  it 
when  he  writes. 


The  great  writer  also  borrows  when  he  reads; 
but  he  borrows  the  gold  in  the  bullion  and  returns 
it  as  coin ;  the  small  writer  borrows  the  copper  and 
does  not  return  it  even  as  pennies. 

Ideas  taken  from  others  are  like  ice-cream  best 
taken  cold ;  and  like  ice-cream  should  become  part 
of  our  blood  only  on  being  raised  to  its  tempera- 



All  that  is  noble  has  been  thought  before. 
All  that  is  good  has  been  said  before.  But  every 
age  has  its  own  need  of  rethinking  the  noble,  of 
resaying  the  good ;  and  every  individual  stands  in 
need  of  redoing  it  for  himself.  Blessed  he  who 
so  doeth;  for  only  by  thinking  it  for  himself 
can  he  resay  it  unto  others ;  and  thus  the  one  be- 
comes the  spokesman  of  the  many;  the  individual, 
of  the  age. 

In  addition  to  the  beauty  common  to  all  ages 
every  age  has  beauties  of  its  own.  Homer's  epi- 
thets so  beautiful  to  the  Greeks  have  lost  much  of 
their  beauty  to  us.  While  the  saying,  "What  are 
churches  but  the  white  poles  of  the  trolley  lines 
to  tell  us  that  here  the  Holy  Spirit  regularly  stops, 
and  the  chariot  of  heaven  is  best  boarded  there  ?" 
has  a  beauty  of  its  own  to  be  perceived  only  in 
trolley  days   .    .    . 

Generations  change  as  well  as  rulers.     Hence 
the  occasional  need  of  restamping  truth  as  well  as 

Every  generation  is  ere  long  sure  to  fall  into 
the  errors  of  its  predecessors;  and  must  ere  long 
relearn  the  old  Truth  for  itself. 

Two  writers  are  great:  who  expresses  mankind's 
wisdom  after  making  it  his  own  by  his  reflection ; 
who  expresses  his  own  wisdom  to  become  in  time 
mankind's  by  their  reflection. 

LETTERS    AND    ART  69 

That  is  the  great  saying  which  has  for  its  body 
the  wisdom  of  many;  for  its  dress  the  wit  of  one. 

That  author  does  most  for  the  reader  who  is  to 
him  what  the  wall  is  to  the  match:  which  by 
rubbing  against  it  strikes  fire. 

To  do  much  for  me  the  author  should  make  me 
think  little  of  himself;  to  do  more,  he  must  make 
me  think  still  less  of  myself. 

A  truth  is  best  stated  if  the  bearer  is  left  with 
the  feeling  that  he  could  have  told  it  equally  well. 

A  thought  like  a  river  is  then  most  impressive 
when  its  depth  is  transparent. 

The  great  writer  is  he  who  has  aught  to  say  over 
the  heads  of  his  hearers.     His  wisdom  must  be 
shown  in  saying  it  down  to  the  heads  of  his  hearers. 

The  small  writer  seeks  to  cover  his  pages  with 
lightning;  the  great  writer,  with  light. 

The  small  writer  is  busy  with  the  novelties  of  the 
day;  the  great  writer,  with  the  antiquities  of  the 

The  small  writer  may  have  much  extension  in 
space;  the  great  writer  has  it  also  in  time. 



The  small  writer  is  content  with  a  market  if 
only  it  be  large;  the  great  writer  is  satisfied  only 
with  an  audience,  even  though  small. 

The  small  writer  gives  his  readers  what  they 
wish;  the  great  writer,  what  they  want. 

Great    writers    imitate    others    when    young; 
small  writers  also  imitate  others  when  young,  but 
they  in  addition  imitate  themselves  when  old. 

The  great  writer  is  also  a  fisherman;  but  one 
who  can  afford  to  wait  for  the  fish  to  come  to 
him  from  the  lake  even  while  he  himself  sits  on 
the  mount. 

The  great  writer  can  afford  to  speak  of  common 
things,  but  he  must  tell  them  in  an  uncommon, 
noble  way.  Wordsworth  told  of  common  things 
in  a  common  way  and  thus  remained  the  great 
commonplace.  Whitman  told  of  common  things 
in  a  common  but  vulgar  way  and  so  remained  the 
great  Boor. 

■To  do  common  things  in  an  uncommon  way  is 
a  mark  of  derangement.  To  speak  of  common 
things  in  an  uncommon,  noble  way  is  the  mark  of 
genius.  It  is  thus  that  each  writer  or  speaker  has 
his  style,  which  stamps  the  man.  The  great 
writer  is  thus  the  man  with  the  style,  the  noble 

LETTERS    AND    ART  7 1 


vStyle  is  to  the  book  what  the  Smile  is  to  the 

Only  he  can  express  the  expressible  who  has 
felt  the  inexpressible. 

The  merely  brilliant  thought   captivates,   the 
great  thought  holds. 

306.     ; 
The  merely  brilliant  thought,  like  a  mere  curi- 
osity, loses  its  force  after  the  first  acquaintance; 
the    great    thought,    like    a    friend,    grows  upon 
further  acquaintance. 

The  final  difference  between  writers  is  mainly  in 
the  color  of  their  ink :  the  many  write  in  black;  the 
chosen  few  in  red. 

That  is  true  writing  where  life  goes  forth  from 
you  in  writing  it.     That  is  great  writing  where  life 
goes  into  you  while  reading  it. 

Always  write  with  your  inkstand  full,  but  with 
some  red  in  the  ink.     Always  use  a  steel  pen,  but 
with  a  golden  point  and  a  feathered  handle. 

The  difference  between  the  mere  writer  and  the 
man  of  Letters  is  solely  in  dignity:  the  one  parts 
with  his  thoughts  for  gold;  the  other  with  his 
gold  for  thoughts. 



The  difference  between  the  classic  writer  and 
the  mere  scribe  is  that  where  both  use  the  world 
folks y  the  classic  writer  has  ear  enough  to  omit 

It  is  a  vice  in  commerce  to  give  the  picture  to 
sell  the  frame.  It  is  a  vice  in  Letters  to  say  aught 
just  to  bring  in  the  fine  phrase. 


A  great  vice  in  art:  to  paint  the  flame  for  the 
sake  of  the  furnace. 

A  great  mistake:  to  write  with  diluted  ink. 

"He  has  exhausted  his  subject!"  No,  only  the 

The    aphorist    is    the    one    who    makes    little 
phrases   say  great  things. 


The  aphorist  should  be  so  charged  with  cos- 
mic dust  that  every  time  he  strikes  earth  a  meteor 
should  flash  out. 

The   aphorism   can   afford   to   have,    like   the 
comet,  a  small  head;  but  must  also,  like  the  comet, 
have  a  wide  sweep  in  the  tail. 

Even  at  its  best  the  essay  is  only  expanded 
aphorism.     It  is  the  mark  of  the  great  aphorism 
that  it  is  a  condensed  essay. 



The  essayist  takes  a  text  for  his  essay ;  the  apho 
rist  makes  his  text  the  essay. 

It  is  a  mark  of  every  genuine  thought  or  feeling 
that  it  lives  even  after  being  out  of  sight ;  like  the 
grain  of  wheat  which  bringeth  forth  much  fruit 
after  it  is  buried. 

One  of  the  marks  of  the  great  thought  is  that 
if  for  you  it  will  flash  upon  you  like  the  lightning 
out  of  the  cloud.     If  not  for  you,  all  you  see  is  the 

The  essence  of  a  great  thought  is  that  it  give 
the  reader  what  he  already  has.  Only  it  must 
have  hitherto  remained  a  secret  between  writer 
and  reader.  The  reader  knows  when  he  reads 
that  the  thought  is  his  also,  the  writer  only  knows 
as  he  writes  that  some  soul  somewhere  at  some 
time  shall  also  share  with  him  his  truth. 

The  ocean  is  an  assemblage  of  drops. 

The  ocean  may  be  seen  in  a  drop ;  the  world,  in  a 

The  shorter  the  word  the  longer  its  reach;  the 
weightier  the  word  the  easier  it  floats. 


Crumbs  do  not  make  a  loaf,  but  they  can  be 
as  nourishing. 


The  vulgar  writer  pleases  the  herd ;  the  mediocre 
one  pleases  the  mass ;  the  great  writer  pleases  a  set, 
though  understood  by  only  one  here  and  there. 

The  great  writer  first  weighs  his  words,  and 
then  counts  them. 

In   youth   we   create,    in  maturity   we   judge. 
He  is  therefore  the  great  writer  who  in  youth  has 
the  judgment  of  age;  in  old  age  the  creativeness  of 

Every    great    book    makes    a    few    wise    men 
wiser,    many  fools  more  foolish,  the  rest  it  leaves 
about  where  they  were. 

It  is  the  mark  of  a  great  reader  that  he  finds 
in  the  book  more  than  is  put  therein. 


Men  seldom  put  forth  into  writing  all  that  in 
them  is,  unless  mayhap  in  spontaneous  letters. 
And  as  only  the  whole  represents  the  man — all 
else  having  a  good  chance  of  effectually  misrep- 
resenting him — pen  and  ink  do  seldom  more  than 
just  falling  short  of  misrepresenting  him.  Is  the 
great  writer  then  doomed  to  be  forever  misunder- 
stood? There  yet  remains  the  reader:  whose  part 
it  ever  must  be  to  draw  forth  by  his  insight  and 
love  what  is  indeed  before  him,  but  in  cypher  as  it 
were,  and  betwixt  the  lines.  The  reader  must 
thus  receive  a  writing  from  a  friend — and  the 

LETTERS    AND    ART  75 

great  writer  is  the  reader's  friend  indeed — as  if 
writ  in  invisible  ink  to  which  he  is  to  apply  the 
proper  agent  to  bring  it  into  view.  But  while  for 
bringing  out  the  hidden  ink  the  application  of 
an  acid  is  needful,  for  bringing  out  the  hidden 
thought  the  application  of  a  sugar  is  enough. 

The  blotting  of  the  ink  is  due  as  likely  to  the 
poverty  of  the  paper  and  to  the  vileness  of  the 
pen  as  to  the  wateriness  of  the  ink. 


Every  book  has  at  least  two  readers  for  neither 
of  whom  it  is  writ :  The  typesetter  who  reads  it 
only  to  spell  it  out  again;  the  proofreader  who 
reads  it  only  to  find  flaws  therein.  Every  great 
soul  has  at  least  two  followers  neither  of  whom  he 
profits:  the  thoughtless  admirer  and  the  equally 
thoughtless  detractor. 


To  reject  earnest  work  merely  because  it  does 
not  interest  or  appeal  to  you,  is  not  yet  a  good 
reason,  unless  in  the  realm  of  anarchy :  where  his 
own  likes  are  everyone's  law  unto  himself,  and 
his  own  will  everyone  would  fain  impose  as  law 
upon  others.  To  be  rational,  you  must  show  that 
it  rationally  does  not  interest  or  appeal  to  you. 


With  healthy  folk  the  mere  fact  that  what  sets 
up  as  a  work  of  art  does  not  appeal  to  them  at  once 
justifies  their  dislike  thereof:  health  of  spirit 
being  the  final  standard  here  as  elsewhere. 

But  who  are  the  healthy?  Well,  first,  not  the 
inmates  of  hospital,  asylum  or  prison;    second, 


those  equipped  to  go  to  these  and  minister  unto 
them,  as  nurse,  physician,  comforter. 

The  author  should  remember  that  to  weigh  gold 
the  scales  need  not  be  gold  themselves.    The  critic 
should  remember  that  even  to  weigh  dross  the 
scales  must  be  exact. 

Holding  the  book  upside  down  perverts  not  its 
sense,  but  yours. 

A  paradox  is  always  true  as  seen  by  the  writer. 
It  is  the  art  of  expression  to  make  its  truth  seen 
also  by  the  reader. 

"I    see   nothing   in   this   particular   thought!" 
And  neither,  friend,  do  I  see  much  in  .the  moun- 
tain till  I  travel  toward  it. 

Of  insects  give  me  the  bee :    which  when  sting 
it  must,  does  it  only  at  the  cost  of  its  life. 

The  wolf  resembles  a  shepherd  dog  more  than 
any  other. 

Critics  were  meant  to  be  like  bees:     choosing 
their  honey  from  even  homely  flowers;    they  are 
apt  to  be  wasps ;  producing  neither  the  sweet  nor 
the  useful,  but  ever  ready  to  sting. 

The  genius  quarrels  with  the  critic  because  he 
is  not  a  genius  himself.     But  the  gold  lock  may 

LETTERS    AND    ART  77 

yet  be  opened  by  an  iron  key.  The  critic  becomes 
contemptible  only  when  in  relation  to  the  genius 
he  deems  himself  a  gold  key  opening  an  iron  lock. 

The  ass  is  not  the  wiser  for  being  loaded  with 

There  is  a  certain  Nemesis  in  the  fact  that  it  is 
asses'  milk  that  proves  such  a  restorative  to  many 
an  ailing  man  of  letters. 

Fiction,  if  it  deceive  not  the  reader,  is  bad  art ; 
if  it  deceive  the  reader,  it  is  bad  morals. 

Many  profound  remarks  have  been  made  over 
the  fact  that  Socrates  wrote  no  book.     But  the 
matter   is   quite   simple:     he   had   no   home   to 
write  in. 

35*  f 

The  book  that  only  makes  you  forget  yourself 
is  only  fit  to  make  its  author  forgotten. 

Obscurity  may  not  always  be  a  sign  of  lack  of 
sense  on  the  part  of  the  writer  in  writing  it.    It  is 
always  a  sign  of  lack  of  sense  on  the  part  of  the 
reader  in  reading  it. 

Clearness  is  not  always  a  sign  of  depth;    ob- 
scurity is  never  so. 

Who  shall  say  that  the  preservation  of  a  book, 
however  mean,  is  not  as  much  a  matter  of  Provi- 


dence  as  the  number  of  sparrows  that  shall  fall 
to  the  ground,  or  the  number  of  the  hairs  upon 
the  heads  of  men,  none  of  which  are  without  the 
Father's  ken?  Some  useful  and  loveable  folk  are 
oft  cut  off  in  their  prime,  while  many  a  helpless, 
burdensome,  and  even  loathsome  personage  is 
kept  lingering  on  long  after  old  age.  And  as  these 
lives  are  surely  not  unordained,  who  shall  say  that 
the  preservation  of,  say,  Manetho's  poems,  rather 
than  of  Livy's  missing  books,  is  not  equally — 

Poetry  is  the  language  of  heavenly  childhood, 
prose  the  speech  of  earthly  manhood.     Verse  is 
the   utterance   of   heavenly   childhood   lost   and 
earthly  manhood  unattained. 

Literature  also  has  its  drones,  its  uselessnesses, 
its  idle  bellies :  the  metaphysician,  the  philosopher 
of  history,  science;  the  social  reformer,  the  writer 
of  fiction  (disguise  for  lying),  drama.  These  have 
only  one  use,  that  of  the  naval  target  at  sea :  to  be 
fired  at  for  practice  and  then  knocked  down.  .  .  . 

Poetry  was  meant  to  be  Truth  in  its  Sunday 
clothes.     It  has  become  Fiction  in  stage  dress. 


The  highest  poetry  is  only  truth  clad  in  beauty. 

Nothing  is  poetry  that  is  not  dream  or  vision. 
But  it  must  be  the  dream  of  a  wise  man,  the  vision 
of  a  good  man. 

LETTERS    AND    ART  79 


The  poet  is  the  whole  of  the  writer;  the  rest  is 
merely  the  cyclopedia  maker,  if  not  the  downright 
mischief  maker. 

Two  great  faults  in  a  poet :    to  have  words  too 
grand  for  his  matter;  to  have  words  not  as  grand 
as  his  matter. 


The  final  value  of  every  book  is  in  its  prologue 
left  unwritten  by  the  author,  in  the  epilogue  acted 
out  by  the  reader. 


The  distance  words  will  travel  depends  first 
upon  the  depth  from  which  they  have  come,  and 
then  upon  the  depth  to  which  they  go. 


The  small  writer  writes  to  make  others  know; 
the  great  writer,  only  to  become  known:  the  one 
writes  for  his  inferiors;   the  other,  for  his  equals. 

The  abundance  of  pictorial  illustration  illus- 
trates only  the  decay  of  Imagination. 

The  aphorism  is  herein  like  the  beautiful  wo- 
man ;  its  charm  is  ever  enhanced  by  its  becoming 

Where  fullness  of  heart  leads  a  critic  to  look  at 
a  small  writer  thro'  magnifying  glasses,  his  empti- 
ness of  head  is  likely  to  lead  him  to  look  at  a  great 
writer  thro'  diminishing  glasses. 



When  literature  becomes  largely  a  matter  of 
style,  and  art  of  technique,  it  is  already  a  period 
of  darkness.  Fireworks  are  best  displayed  at 


Profitable  reading  must  be  the  result  of  your 
emptiness;   profitable  writing,  of  his  fullness. 


Style  is  the  man ;  but  as  each  man  is  a  separate 
indefinability,  style  is  indefinable.  Its  only  char- 
acteristic is  that  which  makes  it  readable  or  un- 


The  average  reader's  dislike  for  aphoristic 
writing  is  only  a  translation  into  terms  of  taste 
of  the  German's  wish  at  his  glass  of  beer :  '  'Would 
that  my  throat  were  a  mile  long!" 

The  critic  should  remember  that  the  shade  of 
the  ink  depends  also  on  the  kind  of  pen  used. 


The  greatest  men  write  nothing.  The  smallest 
men  write  much;  only  they,  too,  write  nothing. 

The  rhetorician  polishes  his  phrase;    the  artist 
his  thought. 

Every  other  weapon  is  fondly  wielded.     The 
pen  alone  has  not  its  wielder's  love.    The  man  of 
letters  loves  the  thought  before  writing,  the  satis- 
faction after  writing ;  but  all  between  is  drudgery. 

LETTERS    AND    ART  8 1 


The  golden  fruit,  the  green  leaf,  the  graceful 
branches,  the  solid  trunk,  are  seen  of  all  and  duly 
admired  and  praised.  But  the  sustaining  roots — 
who  heeds  them?  .... 

I  was  about  to  discard  this  as  a  perhaps  com- 
monplace observation,  when  I  remembered  that 
after  all  many  a  root  is  not  only  heeded  but  even 
diligently  sought  out  and  dug  up ;  but  it  is  by  the 
commercial  soul  and  for  gain 


Dismiss  nothing  as  a  truism  until  you  have  ex- 
hausted its  truth. 


Few  men  are  good  judges  of  their  own  work, 
often  overestimating  it  because  of  their  own  ig- 
norance, and  underestimating  it  because  of  the 
ignorance  of  others. 


Let  the  author  beware  how  he  casts  away  what 
he  thinks  he  has  outgrown.  The  garment  now 
too  small  for  thee  may  yet  be  large  enough  for  one 
who  has  not  yet  attained  to  thy  size.  He  does 
well  with  his  book  who  does  therewith  what  the 
Great  God  does  with  His.  In  the  same  meadow 
the  ox  is  permitted  to  find  his  grass,  the  stork  his 
lizard,  the  bee  its  honey,  and  man  his  flower. 

Your  cherished  thought  so  new  to  yourself  may 
be  only  commonplace  to  others ;  and  even  to-day's 
truth  may  be  only  to-morrow's  truism.  This  may 
well  humble,  but  need  not  discourage.  You  once 
had  the  ambition  to  write  only  for  the  best,  the 


few.  But  it  turns  out  that  the  best  in  one  is  after 
all  what  he  has  in  common  with  the  many.  And 
the  commonplace  is  only  a  truth  of  which  we  have 
become  weary. 

Much  of  his  earlier  work  oft  strikes  the  mature 
author  as  rather  trite.  But.  even  those  sayings 
that  now  may  be  striking  even  to  the  maturest — 
are  not  they  too  commonplace  to  the  one  mind 
that  is  superior  to  all  these?  And  to  the  spiritual 
being  of  a  higher  order,  to  say  nothing  of  the 
Great  God  Himself,  all  our  profoundest  thoughts 
are  only  commonplaces  of  the  tamest  sort;  since 
the  deepest  thought  of  man  can  accomplish  no 
more  than  to  get  a  peep  now  and  then  into  what 
is  to  us  indeed  God's  mysteries,  but  to  Him  His 
everlasting  open  verity.  So  that  the  fresh  and 
the  trite,  the  profound  and  the  tame,  the  original 
and  the  commonplace,  are  they  not  after  all  mere 
matters  of  degree? 

381.  _ 

Those  New  England  Attics  where  all  manner 
of  apparently  useless  lore  is  so  carefully  stored 
away  for  decades — I  used  to  laugh  at  the  foolish- 
ness of  those  old-fashioned  New  England  house- 
keepers. I  now  have  profound  respect  for  these 
same  old-fashioned  New  England  dames  with  their 
mixed  multitudes  of  attics. 

There  are  ever  two  reasons  for  rejecting  what 
is  set  up  as  a  work  of  art:  first,  that  it  is  not  art; 
second,  that  if  art  it  is,  it  is  unworthily  employed. 

Profitable  reading  must  be  the  result  of  your 
emptiness,     Profitable  writing  must  be  the  result 
of  his  fullness. 

LETTERS    AND    ART  83 


To  prune  the  sentence  to  make  it  stronger  can 
be  done  safely  only  by  the  master  hand.  He 
trimmed  the  vine  to  let  in  the  sun.  It  only  with- 
ered the  grapes. 


The  aphorism  is  to  the  essay  what  the  bit  of 
landscape  seen  thro'  a  small  opening  is  to  the 
whole.  It  brings  out  the  beauty  of  this  particu- 
lar bit  hitherto  lost  in  the  whole. 

That  author  does  most  for  the  reader  who  is 
to  him  what  the  wall  is  to  the  match :  which  by 
rubbing  against  it  strikes  fire. 

The  merely  brilliant  thought  captivates;   the 
great  thought  holds. 

The  small  book  first  intoxicates  the  reader  and 
then  fails  to  sober  him.     The  great  book  first 
sobers  the  reader,  and  then  keeps  him  sober. 

Who  translates  another  without  wronging  him 
wrongs  himself  by  being  only  a  translator. 

It  needs  much  talent  to  write  new  maxims,  and 
quite  as  much  to  practice  the  old. 

The  merely  brilliant  thought  is  writ  with  the 
sweat  of  the  brow;  the  profound  thought  is  writ 
with  the  blood  of  the  heart. 



Who  can  write  a  novel  may  be  a  great  man. 
Who  writes  a  novel  is  seldom  one. 

The  power  of  expression— the  more  it  gives  off 
the  stronger  it  grows,  and  it  feeds  on  what  it  gives 
off.  Like  the  double  reel,  the  slimmer  the  one 
end,  the  stouter  the  other.  Hence  the  mere  gift 
of  expression,  often  the  chief  stock  in  trade  of  the 
orator  and  the  poet,  is  a  most  dangerous  gift, 
treacherous  to  good  taste.  The  production  of  one 
work  makes  easier  the  production  of  others.  But 
while  the  first  may  be  a  work  of  genius,  the  rest 
are  like  to  be  the  mechanical  result  of  mere 
knack  of  talent;  the  imitation  of  the  former 
success,  oft  a  mere  echo  of  the  whilom  nobler  self. 

Water  in  the  glass,  where  it  can  be  seen  pure, 
is  not  beautiful:  it  is  clear,  it  is  transparent,  but 
to  become  beautiful  it  must  be  shaded  by  its 
bottom,  colored  by  the  sky,  tinged  by  the  salt. 
Water  in  the  glass  is  not  so  much  beautiful  as 
free  from  ugliness.  Air  in  its  purity  is  not  even 
seen;  to  be  seen  as  the  blue  sky,  an  inverted 
ocean  in  repose,  it  must  be  alloyed  with  the  dust 
of  earth.  vSunlight  of  itself  is  not  yet  beautiful, 
it  is  simply  faultless.  But  sunlight  in  the  rain- 
bow, in  the  clouds,  even  in  the  smoked  glass,  is 
beautiful.  We  thus  arr've  at  the  certainly  false 
paradox  that  there  can  be  no  beauty  without 
a  tinge  of  what  is  foreign  thereto,  a  kind  of  ugli- 
ness, since  ugliness  is  merely  beauty  away  from 
home.      And  yet    this  paradox  is  only  false   in 

LETTERS    AND    ART  85 

the  ideal,  in  the  real  it  is  true  enough.  The 
profoundest  statement  of  the  law  of  beauty  is  not 
found  in  Lessing,  or  Burke,  or  Ruskin,  but  in  an 
incidental  statement  of  One  who  though  he 
shrank  not  from  making  the  largest  claims  for 
himself,  and  truly  spake  as  man  never  spake, — 
beauty  is  the  one  word  never  found  in  his  vocab- 
ulary: even  as  laughter  is  never  once  recorded  of 
him  who  came  to  give  the  peace  and  joy  which 
the  world  can  neither  give  nor  take  away.  The 
incidental  statement  is:  "  Moses  because  of  the 
hardness  of  your  hearts  suffered  you  to  put  away 
your  wives,  but  from  the  beginning  it  had  not 
been  so."  It  is  the  sick  that  talk  most  of  health; 
the  poor  that  talk  most  of  wealth.  Among  the 
wealthy  the  comforts  of  life  are  not  discussed, 
among  the  well-bred  good  manners  are  not  talked 
of,  and  in  heaven  pure  spirit,  beauty  and  virtue, 
— shall  these  be  much  talked  about?  The  very 
idea  of  holiness  is  set  apart,  set  apart  from  evil. 
The  thrill  which  attends  the  perception  of  beauty 
is  at  bottom  only  the  pang  of  hunger,  and 
"When  I  awake  in  his  likeness  I  shall  be  satisfied." 
God  is  called  Truth,  Light,  Life,  Love,  he  is 
never  called  Beauty. 

And  here  is  a  reason  why  the  promised  Seed  of 
the  woman,  who  is  to  bruise  the  serpent's  head, 
is  made  to  descend  from  the  third  son  of  Adam. 
Cain  was  a  murderer,  and  from  him  the  Messiah 
could  not  descend;  but  from  the  righteous  Abel, 
wherefore  not  from  him  ?  Because  Abel  belonged  as 
yet  to  the  beginning  when  things  were  yet  so.  Of 
Abel  it  is  not  witnessed  that  Adam  begat  him  in 
his  own  likeness.  It  is  witnessed  of  Seth:  "And 
Adam  begat  in  his  own  likeness  after  his  image." 


From  Abel,  the  pure  Adamic  sunlight,  the  Son  of 
Man  must  not  descend:  for  bearing  away  the  sin 
of  the  world  he  must  come  from  Seth,  Son  of 
Adamic  light,  but  already  broken  into  rainbow 

He  reads  essays  on  taste  to  improve  his  taste, 
but   he   knows   better   than   to  read   essays   on 
cookery  to  improve  his  appetite. 

Science  needs  a  collection,  art  only  a  selection. 

The  abundance  of  books  may  cause  as  much 
ignorance  as  their  scarcity. 

The  picture  or  poem  that  needs  explanation  is 
only  a  riddle  in  paint.     But  life  has  enough  of 
real  riddles,  and  can  well  dispense  with  painted 

Carlyle — praising  silence  with  the  voice  of  a 

Carlyle — chiefly  thunder  with  little  lightning. 
Emerson — chiefly  lightning  with  little  light. 

Talent     may     faithfully    reproduce     nature. 
Genius  is  nature  reproducing  itself. 



Healthy  philosophers  ask  whether  pain  is  an 
evil.  Sick  laymen  do  not  ask  the  question:  they 
know  pain  to  be  an  evil.  And  the  sick  philos- 
opher? He  too  would  then  acknowledge  it  to  be 
an  evil;  but  he  would  thus  cease  to  be  a — 
philosopher ! 


The  mystery  of  pain?  But  there  is  no  mystery 
about  pain.  It  is  all  explained  in  the  third  chapter 
of  Genesis  in  connection  with  verses  16-17  of 
the  second.  Man  (as  compared  with  animals 
being  clothed)  was  created  naked,  dependent,  in 
order  to  remind  him  of  his  helplessness,  that  thus 
he  ever  keep  his  face  Godward  and  acknowledge 
his  need.  But  man,  instead  of  being  humbled  by 
this  exceptional  condition,  is  not  ashamed,  and 
acknowledges  not  his  need.  Here  as  elsewhere  it 
is :  "  O,  Jerusalem,  Jerusalem,  if  thou  hadst  known 
the  hour  of  thy  visitation !  but  now  are  the  things 
that  make  for  thy  peace  hid  from  thy  sight."  .  . 
And  the  Son  of  God  weeps  thereover.  The 
tempter  is  thus  sent  to  reveal  to  Adam  his  own 
nakedness,  and  Sin  at  last  reveals  to  him  what  his 
pride  had  concealed  from  him.  And  Pain  is 
God's  verdict  upon  Sin,  "The  way  of  the  trans- 
gressor is  hard"     .... 

The  only  mystery  connected  with  pain  is  that 


men  reject  this  the  only  satisfactory  explanation, 
and  keep  running  after  others  which  require 
more  credulity  to  accept  than  the  one  they 
reject.  And  this  mystery  is  also  amply  explained 
in  that  very  account :  that  man  is  ever  by  nature 
a  sinner,  a  pervert,  a  fool:  ever  running  after 
the  silly  where  the  wise  is  close  by. 

It  is  impossible  in  such  things  to  be  exact. 
But  with  this  allowance  made  pain  is  related  to 
sorrow  as  affection  is  related  to  love.  The  differ- 
ence between  them  is  only  in  stage,  in  rank.  The 
beast  has  pain  and  affection  in  common  with 
man,  but  this  still  leaves  it  a  beast.  It  may  also 
have  sorrow  and  love  in  common  with  man,  but 
this  already  makes  it  aught  less  than  mere  beast, 
at  times  even  aught  more  than  some  humans .... 

Sorrow  is  pained  spirit;  pain  is  sorrowing  flesh. 

vSorrow   is    either   noble   or   ignoble.      Pain  is 
neither.     It  is  ever  its  own  self:    just  pain. 

Sorrow  can  also  collect  us,  pain  only  distracts  us. 

Sorrow   teaches   folk   silence;     pain    does    not 
teach  folk  to  speak,  but  it  oft  does  promote  much 


Great  joys  spoil  folk  for  little  pleasures.    Great 
sorrows  still  leave  folk  vulnerable  to  trifling  pains. 

OF    PAIN  89 


Our    comforts    come   from    God,    our    sorrows 
from  ourselves,  our  pains  from  both. 

Men   are   apt   to   belittle   others'  sorrows  and 
magnify  their  own  pains. 

Man's  capacity  for  joy  dies  with  others;     his 
capacity  for  pain  dies  only  with  himself. 

To  give  high  joy  great  things  are  needful;     to 
give  pain  little  things  are  enough. 

The  pain  of  what  we  miss  lasts  longer  than 
the  joy  of  what  we  have. 


Continuance  dulls  enjoyment,  but  not  pain. 

A  joy  lost  can  become  a  lasting  pain,  a  pain 
lost  is  never  more  than  temporary  joy. 

Great    susceptibility    gives    extraordinary    en- 
joyment  rarely;     extraordinary   pain   often. 

The  pleasures  of  life  are  short,  not  so  its  pains. 

The    pleasures    of    life    are    oft    increased    by 
others  not  enjoying  likewise.     The  pains  of  life 
are  seldom  diminished  by  others  suffering  likewise. 



All  can  be  taken  from  life,  but  not  the  pain  of 


Of  all  else  the  more  we  have  the  less  it  becomes 
to  us.  The  increase  of  pain  alone  fails  to  diminish 


"Pain  is  still  a  sign  of  life;  the  dead  suffer  no 
pain."  Vain  consolation.  Pain  is  the  one  un- 
welcome harbinger  of  death,  and  the  one  thing 
that  makes  death  preferable  to  life. 

Pain,  when  the  result  of  goodness,  is  a  privi- 
lege;   when  the  result  of  badness  it  is  a  punish- 
ment only  when  it  has  failed  as  a  mercy. 

One  way  of  avoiding  pain  is  to  take  pains. 

To  fear  pain  is  natural ;     to  fear    pleasure  is 

To  escape  unendurable  physical  pain  we  must 
become  unconscious  of  self;   to  escape  unendura- 
ble spiritual  pain  we  need  only  become  conscious 
of  God. 

Physical  pain  is  a  sign  that  aught  dying  within 
us  needs  resurrection;    spiritual  pain  is  a  sign 
that  aught  living  within  us  needs  crucifixion. 




Of  all  else  we  know  the  taste  from  a  single 
swallow :  of  life  alone  the  taste  can  be  known 
only  after  it  has  been  drunk  to  the  dregs. 

The  ship's  destination  is  the  haven:    its  destiny 
the  ocean.     The  soul's  destination  is  rest:     its 
destiny,  the  storm. 

Where'er    we    go  we  shall  be  surrounded  by 
water.     It  is  only  a  question  on  how  large  an 
island  we  shall  dwell. 

There  is  more  sea  than  land,  and  all  the  sea 
is  salt. 

Men  ever   seek    to    sail    an    obstructed    river 
and  smooth;    but  the  voyage  is  thro'  a  series  of 
canals:     to  be  first  locked  in  and  then  dropped 

Man    enters    the    world    weeping,    while    all 
around  him  smile;    man  leaves  the  world  with 
all   around  him  weeping,    and   he   himself   does 
not  smile. 


Before  coming  into  life  we  must  go  thro'   a 
baptism  of  water;    before  going  into  death  we 
must  go  thro'  a  baptism  of  fire. 


Man  is  never  so  near  the  Satanic  as  when  he 
laughs;  never  so  near  the  angelic  as  when  he 
smiles;  he  is  never  so  truly  human  as  when  he 


In  Nature  even  the  longest  winter  is  followed 
by  a  spring;  in  man  the  longest  winter,  if  not 
broken  into  by  Grace,  is  followed  only  by  a  still 
longer  one. 

438.  _ 

Disease  runs  its  course  either  by  killing  or  by 
recovery.  Sorrow  also  runs  its  course,  but  by 
doing  neither. 

t  439- 
Men  are  divided  into  those  who  know  their 
misery,  and  those  who  know  it  not.     And  the 
latter  are  not  the  less  miserable  of  the  two. 

Of  happiness  there  are  many  kinds,  but  hardly 
any   degrees.      Of  misery  there   are   also   many 
kinds,  but  innumerable  degrees. 

Two  things  are  equally  real  in  life:     love  and 
sorrow;     but  the  joys  of  love  are  fleeting,  the 
pains  of  sorrow  are  abiding. 

Joy  shared  is  doubled,  sorrow  shared  is  halved. 

OF    SORROW  93 

The   highest   mirth   must   be   sober,    but   the 
deepest  sorrow  cannot  be  cheerful. 

Joy  is  seldom  as  high  as  it  seems.     Misery  is 
but  too  often  deeper  than  it  seems. 

Their   good   fortune   men   overestimate — they 
know  not  its  littleness.     Their  misfortune  men 
underestimate — they  know  not  its  greatness. 

Misfortune   brings   other   miseries   besides   its 
own.     When  the  elephant  is  sunk  in  the  bog, 
even  a  frog  can  croak  on  his  head. 

The  anticipation  of  joy  is  often  more  joyful 
than  the  joy  itself:     the  anticipation  of  sorrow 
is  seldom  as  sorrowful  as  the  sorrow  itself. 

Appreciation    of    our    good   fortune    does    not 
make  it  appear  greater.     The  perception  of  our 
misfortune  does  not  make  it  appear  smaller. 

Prometheus  at  the  rock  is  the  type  of  the 
sorrow  of  him  that  knows.  Pegasus  in  his  yoke 
is  the  type  of  the  sorrow  of  him  that  feels.  Ma- 
zeppa  on  his  steed  is  the  type  of  the  sorrow  of 
him  that  works.  The  ancients  have  depicted 
them,  the  moderner  has  depicted  him.  Only  the 
sorrow  of  him  that  lives  has  not  yet  been  depicted, 
for  he  is  chained  to  a  corpse. 



The  rose  fades,  its  thorns  do  not  fade. 


Philosophy  reasons  with  sorrow,  but  the  sorrow 
that  can  be  reasoned  with  is  only  ignorance. 
Friendship  consoles  sorrow,  but  the  sorrow  that 
can  be  consoled  is  only  hunger.  True  sorrow 
accepts  neither  argument  nor  consolation,  but 
the  reality  that,  Man  is  born  unto  trouble  as  the 
sparks  fly  upward;  and,  Thro'  many  tribulations 
must  we  enter  the  Kingdom  of  God. 

Job's  friends  showed  their  sympathy  in  coming 
so  far;    their  wisdom  in  keeping  silent  so  long. 
It  is  when  the  silence  is  broken  that  they  change 
from  good  sympathizers  into  bad  comforters. 

It  is  shallow  to  console  the  afflicted  as  blessed 
in  disguise.     The  flour  is  not  yet  bread,  its  value 
is  in  its  being  capable  of  becoming  bread. 

Sometimes  the  superwise  heart  amuses  itself 
with  lecturing  the  agonized  soul  under  the  guise 
of  comforting  it.  I  myself  have  sinned  thus 
when  I  wrote:  "We  strike  the  barrel  to  see 
whether  it  be  empty  or  full,  and  shall  not  we 
submit  to  the  same  treatment  at  the  hands  of 
God?"  But,  O,  my  heartless  player  at  comfort, 
are  you  so  sure  of  God's  need  to  pound  away  at 
your  barrel  to  discover  whether  it  be  empty 
or  not  ? 

.  OF    SORROW  95 

The  plaster  for  the  scratch;  but  for  the  wound 
■ — my  friend,  do  not  waste  your  time  with  your 
reasonings,  consolations  and  the  rest.  The  only 
balm  for  grief  is  hope;  and  if  you  bring  not  hope, 
stay  if  you  like,  only  be  sure  to  hold  your  peace. 

The  power  of  mind  over  body  is  real,  and  to 
this  extent:  that  even  imaginary  ills  may  become 
real  thro'  delusion.  But  it  does  not  extend  enough 
to  make  real  ills  imaginary.  And  here  is  the  whole 
fallacy  about  much  well  meant  teaching  with 
desire  to  comfort.  Real  ills  are  ills,  not  benefits. 
A  brave  soul  displays  its  power  of  mind  over 
body  and  bears  the  ills,  but  does  not  deny  them. 

The  noblest  sorrow  has  no  antidote.     It  can 
only  have  a  counterpoise. 

In  their  care  to  escape  great  misfortunes  men 
fall  into  small  ones;    and  these  make  their  mis- 
fortune truly  great. 

Futile  as  is  the  search  for  perpetual  motion, 
the  search  for  perpetual  rest  is  still  more  so. 

Great  joys  are,  like  the  waterless  clouds,  fleeting; 
great  sorrow  is,  like  the  scorching  sunshine,  sta- 

Joy    lasts    only    for    hours,    happiness    hardly 
more  than  weeks;    anxiety  keeps  on  for  months, 
miserv  can  live  for  years. 



Sorrow  like  the  wine  cask  is  tested  by  its  sound ; 
the  fuller  it  is  the  less  it  resounds. 

Who  speaks  of  his  miseries  has  certainly  not 
yet  died  to  them.     It  is  only  a  question  whether 
he  has  already  been  born  to  them. 


The  joy  that  is  not  increased  by  sharing  it  with 
another  is  not  yet  the  purest;  the  sorrow  that 
is  diminished  by  recounting  it  to  another  is  not 
yet  the  deepest. 


Both  the  wise  man  of  the  world  and  the  man 
of  God  soon  discover  the  vanity  of  this  life.    But 
the  man  of  the  world  rests  not  until  he  has  ex- 
pressed his  woe  in  words;    the  man  of  God  rests  , 
not  until  he  ceases  from  words. 

To  complain  of  undeserved  misfortune  is  to 
prove    yourself    unwortlry    of    undeserved  good 

They  tell  me  that  misery  loves  company.  If 
so,  it  is  true  only  of  those  who  in  addition  to 
being  in  misery  are  themselves  also  miserable. 
The  miserable  do  like  company,  and  this  con- 
stitutes part  of  their  misery. 

Of  all  chases  the  vainest  is  after  sympathy. 

OF    SORROW  97 


Better  be  unable  to  rise  above  sorrow  than  to 
be  unable  to  rise  to  it. 

To  mirth  one  must  stoop,  to  sorrow  one  must 


There  is  a  sublime  sorrow,  but  only  a  high 
joy  and  an  innocent  mirth. 


The  tree  is  clad  in  spring  with  leaves  and 
blossoms,  and  in  summer  with  fruit.  And  when 
the  fruit  is  ripe,  it  is  dropped  in  silence.  And  in 
the  autumn  when  'tis  time  to  shed  the  leaves, 
these  too  are  shed  in  silence.  And  all  winter 
tree  standeth  naked,  amid  blast  and  chill.  Still 
tree  is  silent.  This  is  only  a  tree;  and  thou, 
O  man?     .... 


The  value  of  the  tree  is  in  the  shade  it  gives  in 
summer,  the  fruit  in  the  autumn,  the  beauty  in 
the  spring,  the  fuel  in  the  winter.  The  beauty, 
the  fruit,  the  shade — these  it  can  give  without 
losing  its  life.  But  to  give  the  heat,  it  must  be 
cut  and  chopped,  and  go  into  the  fire.  And  all 
the  while  it  is  winter     .... 

Thou  goest  into  the  jewelry  store  and  seest 
pearls  and  diamonds  and  jewels.  They  are  not 
for  thee,  thou  say  est — and  covetest  them  no 
longer.  Thou  goest  among  men  and  seest  com- 
panionship, sympathy,  love;  neither  are  these 
for  thee,  thou  say  est — shall  these  also  then  be 
coveted  no  longer?     .... 



The  part  of  the  conductor  is  to  collect  fares; 
of  the  brakeman  to  call  out  the  stations;  of  the 
fireman  to  watch  the  fire;  of  the  engineer  to 
guide  the  train;  and  the  part  of  the  passenger  is 
to  sit  still  and  be  carried.  Great  the  confusion 
were  the  conductor  to  apply  the  brakes,  the  engi- 
neer to  collect  fares,  the  passenger  to  guide  the 
engine,  and  the  brakeman  to  sit  still  and  be 
carried.  Thus  in  life  too  each  hath  his  part :  one 
to  rule,  the  other  to  obey;  one  to  rejoice,  the 
other  to  grieve;  one  to  enjoy,  the  other  to  suffer. 
Thou  who  wouldest  fain  have  it  otherwise,  be- 
cause it  is  thine  to  suffer,  learn  to  sit  still  and  be 
carried.     It  is  thou  that  art  the  passenger    .    .     . 


Sorrow  is  at  its  deepest  when  it  is  love  in 
preparation;  love  is  at  its  highest  when  it  is 
sorrow  in  action. 

The  sorrow  that  has  never  rejoiced  has  not 
yet  reached  its  depth;    the  love  that  has  never 
mourned  has  not  yet  reached  its  height. 

We  are  not  truly  mellowed  until  we  can  behold 
two   things  with   a   sad    joy:      others'  joy,    our 
sorrow     .     . 

To  understand  sorrow  one  may  learn  from  only 
reading  Job;   but  to  love  the  sorrowing  one  must 
have  been  in  Job. 

OF    SORROW  99 


The  drinking  of  the  bitter  cup  twice  is  not 
escaped  by  breaking  it  after  drinking  it  once. 

The  wrinkles   dug  by   passion   are  ugly,   but 
there    are   wrinkles   that    have   been   paths   for 
tears,  and  these  are  not  ugly. 

The  countless  rays  held  in  one  drop  of  water 
are  fit  type  of  the  countless  sorrows  compressed 
in  a  single  tear 

The  sorrow  that  runs  easily  to  tears  is  apt  to 
run  off  as  easily  as  tears. 

One  laugh  is  worth  a  dozen  groans,  but  not 
yet  one   sigh.     One  smile  is  worth  a  dozen  sighs 
but  not  yet  a  single  tear. 

There  is  an  acidity  in  the  salt  of  tears  that 
washes  away  many  a  stain. 

The  highest  joy  finds  expression  in  silent  tears. 
The  deepest  sorrow  in  tearless  silence. 


It  is  the  empty  boiler  that  explodes,  not  the 
full  one. 

Tears  form  for  the  eye  one  veil,  they  remove 



The  glass  lengthens  the  vision  only  when  held 
before  the  eye.  Tears  widen  the  vision  long 
after  they  are  wiped  off  the  eyes. 


The  work  of  tears  is  not  yet  done  until  they 
veil  our  eyes  to  others'  faults  and  open  them  to 


It  is  a  question  whether  life  was  meant  to  be 
hard,  it  is  certain  we  make  it  so. 

It  is  not  the  water  without  the  ship  that  sinks 
it  but  the  water  within  it. 

The  axe  has  such  power  over  the  forest  because 
it  is  the  forest  that  furnishes  the  handle. 

Misfortune,  like  a  cloud,  rises  not  from  one 
direction  but  from  all  sides  at  once.  This  because 
misfortune  is  less  in  circumstances  than  in  us.  One 
mishap  dimming  our  sight  causes  much  else  to 
appear  as  mishap. 

That  the  smallest  cloud  hides  the   stars  from 
us  is  due  not  to  their  smallness,  but  to  ours. 

Th  e  ills  of  life  are  nearly  always  our  invited 
guests,   and  then  we  proceed  to  eject  them  as 


Th  e  secret  of  sorrow  is,  Men  think  God  has  a 
plan  for  them:    He  only  has  a  plan  thro'  them. 

The  sharpest  thing  of  sorrow  is  the  question: 
Why  must  it  be  thus?     But  sorrow  is  meant  to 
teach  us  not  to  question. 

Our  greatest  misfortunes  befall  us  either  before 
or  after  their  arrival,  seldom  at  their  arrival. 

The  danger  from  lightning  is  past  when  the 
thunder  is  heard:     the  worst  is  over  when  mis- 
fortune has  arrived. 

The  lightning  is  brightest  when  the  cloud  is 
darkest:    the  wire  sings  clearest  when  the  storm 
is  fiercest. 

Calamities  are  the  fires  kindled  by  a  merciful 
God   for   consuming   the   rubbish   we   have   not 
courage  or  zeal  enough  to  burn  ourselves. 

It  is  the  severe  scouring  which  shows  whether 
the  pot  is  gold  or  only  gilded. 

Like  the  shoe  man  can  be  made  to  shine  only 
after  being  blacked  first  and  then  brushed. 

Sorrow  is  meant  to  be  a  sort  of  Midas,  and 
change  all  it  touches  into  gold. 



It  is  the  driest  wood  that  gives  the  quickest 
heat;  it  is  the  wrung-out  heart  that  gives  the 
speediest  relief. 

To  be  hardened,  the  iron  must  first  be  softened. 

To  burn  brighter  the  candle  ^nust  be  snuffed. 

Small  men  may  also   expand,   but   only  like 
mercury :  when  'tis  warm.     Great  men  expand  like 
water,  also  when  freezing. 

The  steak  to  be  made  the  tenderer,  must  be 

The  more  shaded  the  plant,  the  tenderer  it  is. 

The  hardness  of  fate  hardens  hard  hearts  and 
softens  tender  hearts. 

The  moon  which  shineth  with  borrowed  light 
can  indeed  be  seen  by  day  as  well  as  by  night; 
but  to  see  the  stars,  which  shine  by  their  own, 
you  must  be  in  darkness. 

The  cloud  is  fit  symbol  of  sorrow  in  that  it 
draws  from  salt  water  to  give  it  back  as  fresh. 



Prosperity  does  to  life  what  the  tempest  does 
to  the  ocean:  blurs  the  clearness  of  its  depth. 
Adversity  does  to  life  what  the  sun  does  to  the 
ocean:  attracts  its  waters  to  raise  them  towards 
its  height. 


Who  wishes  to  walk  by  the  sun  must  give  up 
the  stars.  Who  wishes  to  walk  by  the  stars  must 
give  up  the  sun.  Only  in  the  twilight  can  both 
be  had. 


Plants  and  beasts  profit  most  by  the  light 
which  shineth  by  day.  Man  profits  most  by  the 
light  which  shineth  by  night. 


Shells  we  find  on  the  beach ;  for  pearls  we  must 

Howe'er  hard  thy  fate,  it  is  not  too  hard  if  it 

soften  thee 

The  hardness  of  fate  seldom  softens  the  heart: 
the  softness  of  fate  often  hardens  it. 

Where  the  hardness  of  the  lot  has  not  softened 
the  heart,  it  is  because  the  lot  is  not  yet  hard 


The  pupil  of  the  eye  contracts  in  the  light  and 
dilates  in  the  dark:  suggesting  the  need  of  ex- 
panded vision  in  the  presence  of  all  darkness. 



The  healing  herbs  are  generally  the  bitter  herbs. 


The  Nadir  is  under  each  man's  feet,  but  the 
Zenith  is  also  over  each  man's  head. 


The  hurricane  which  blows  down  all  that 
stands  up  before  it  passes  over  what  stoops 
under  it. 

Bear  up  under  suffering,  and  it  will  soon  bear 
thee  up. 

Adversity   does   for   the   heart   what   the   fire 
does  for  the  city  streets:     enables  it  to  become 

In  the  furnace  gold  is  melted,  clay  is  hardened. 

It  is  in  the  winter  that  the  view  of  the  land- 
scape is  clearest. 

A  man's  best   qualities  are  those  which  like 
birds'  nests  are  hid  from  view  in  summer,  but  are 
easily  beholden  in  winter. 


Constant  rain  rots,  constant  sunshine  withers. 

In  prosperity,  I  learn  the  depravity  of  others, 
in  adversity  I  learn  also  mine  own. 

OF    SORROW  105 

533-  $ 

To  yield  his  best,  man,  like  the  soil,  must  be 
first  torn  up  and  then  turned  over. 

To  find  yourself  you  must  first  lose  yourself. 

Even  the  volcano,  tho'  glowing  wTithin,  may 
be  ice -clad  without  if  only  high  enough. 

The  largest  planet  has  its    sun,   the  smallest 
hair  casts  its  shadow. 

Misery  feeds  as  much  on  doubt  as  on  certainty. 

To  be  mindful  of  your  folly  is  already  part  of 
wisdom,  to  reckon  with  your  weakness  is  already 
part  of  strength,  to  be  content  with  your  poverty 
is  already  part  of  riches.  Accept  your  sorrow, 
it  may  yet  become  part  of  joy. 

.    539- 
The  first  step  in  the  art  of  painting  is  to  learn 
the  value  of  shadow.     A  first  step  in  the  art  of 
living  is  to  learn  the  value  of  misfortune. 

It  is  well  to  remember  that  no  rose  is  without 
thorns,  better  still  to  remember  that  even  near 
thorns  roses  are  found. 

It  is  easy  to  endure  the  great  misfortunes,  not 
so  easy  to  endure  the  little  misfortunes. 



Even  an  evil  may  become  a  good  if  we  make  the 
best  thereof. 

The  surest  escape  from  tribulation  is  to  move 
right  on.    The  smoke  hovers  long  over  the  engine 
that  stands  still.     It  is  left  speedily  behind  the 
one  running  ahead. 

Every  sorrow  can  be  gotten  over;   it  is  only  a 
question  whether  it  had  better  be  gotten  over. 

The  great  blessing  of  real  ills  is  their  speedily 
curing  us  of  imaginary  ills. 

In  misery  the  weak  seek  relief  in  lamentation , 
the  strong  in  action,  the  wise  in  hopeful  resigna- 
tion, the  saintly  in  adoring  submission. 

The   two   certainties   of  life   are   sorrow   and 
illusion.     But  the  remedy  for  illusion  must  be 
found  only  in  this  life;    the  remedy  for  sorrow 
chiefly  in  the  next. 

A  bitter  sorrow:  to  have  your  help  rejected  by 
those  you  love — a  sorrow  even  a  God  may  suffer. 

Sorrow  is   best   dealt   with   as   the   telescope: 
which  looked  at  reveals  only  itself,  looked  thro' 
reveals  shining  worlds. 

OF    SORROW  107 


Misfortune  is  best   dealt  with  as  the  pill  is 
dealt  with:    swallowed,  rather  than  chewed. 


For  thee,  many  alas!  must  suffer.     It  is  thine 
to  see  that  none  suffer  through  thee  .... 

Two  souls  shed  no  tears:     who  has  not  yet 
begun  to  live,  who  has  already  ceased  to  live. 

Two   sorrows  are  without  help:     the  sorrow 
which  comes  from  being  overestimated  by  our- 
selves;    the    sorrow    which    comes    from    being 
underestimated  by  others. 

The  highest  joy  in  life  is  when  one  can  say, 
It  is  done;   the  deepest  sorrow,  when  one  has  to 
say,  I  am  done. 

Our   deepest   sorrows   are   caused   by   our   in- 
feriors   whom   we   love,    by    our    superiors    who 
love  us  not. 

To  stand  at  the  grave  closed  over  your  hopes 
— memory  at  least  casts  a  halo  round  them.    But 
to  stand  at  their  ever  open  grave 

The  clouds  hide  the  sun  from  those  beneath, 
not  from  those  above  them. 


In   storms   the   feather  flies   higher   than   the 
stone.     Be  then  a  feather  if  you  like.     I  prefer 
to  be  an  oak,  even  tho'  in  the  same  storm  it  is  like 
to  be  uprooted  sooner  than  the  vine  it  supports. 

559-   ; 
The  surest  remedy  for  the  ills  of  life  is :    patience 
with  others,  impatience  with  ourselves. 


Life  is  indeed  sad  when  truth  is  only  half  at- 
tained ;  it  is  no  less  "sad  when  the  whole  truth  is 
attained.  After  the  whole  revolution  the  wheel 
is  no  more  right  side  up  than  after  half  a  one. 
But  the  sadness  of  half-truth  brings  no  joy  with 
it ;  the  sadness  of  the  whole  truth  does  bring  a 
certain  joy  therewith. 


Fortune  is  best  treated  by  us  as  the  wheel- 
barrow is  treated  by  the  farmer:  pushed  from 
us  when  full,  only  dragged  behind  us  when  empty. 

We  laugh  at  things  too  tragic  to  weep  over, 
we  grieve  over  things  too  ridiculous  to  laugh  at. 


The  sorrows  of  the  noble  are  fewer  in  number 
but  greater  in  kind.  The  sorrows  of  the  ignoble 
are  small  in  number  and  as  small  in  kind. 

Every  worthy  life  is  a  tragedy.  It  is  only  a 
question  whether  a  noble  tragedy  or  an  ignoble. 
Your  work  bravely  done  spite  of  the  tragedy  en- 
nobles it.  Your  work  left  undone  because  of  the 
tragedy,  demeans  it. 

OF    SORROW  109 


The  rivers  do  not  raise  the  ocean's  level,  they 
only  keep  it  from  sinking.  Man's  own  efforts 
cannot  make  him  happy,  at  best  they  can  only 
keep  him  from  being  wretched. 


One  of  the  best  teachers  of  a  foreign  tongue  is 


Men  seldom  need  our  sympathy  so  much  as 
when  we  find  their  sorrow  ridiculous. 

Those  whom  enjoyment  unites  are  easily  sep- 
arated, not  so  easily  those  whom  sorrow  unites. 


Who  think  they  suffer  need  our  compassion  as 
much  as  those  who  do  suffer.  Imaginary  sorrow 
is  still  sorrow. 


There  are  folk  who  have  only  their  misery  to 
commend  them,  but  this  is  enough;  since  it  is 
man's  misery  that  is  his  strongest  claim  upon 
our  love. 


Learn  from  the  fowl  of  the  air;  which,  howe'er 
low  they  descend  by  day  always  perch  high  at 

Learn  from  the  nail:  which,  the  more  'tis 
hammered,  the  firmer  it  holds. 

Learn  from  the  candle:  which,  tho'  it  be  held 
downward,  still  sends  its  flame  upward. 


Learn  from  the  rose:  which,  tho'  its  root  be 
in  dirt  and  darkness,  yet  sendeth  forth  grace  and 

Learn  from  the  river:  which,  the  more  it  is 
dammed,  the  wider  it  swells. 

Learn  from  the  sea:  which  is  grand  in  storm 
as  well  as  in  calm. 

Learn  from  the  tree :  which  shades  others  while 
scorched  itself  by  the  sun. 

Of  all  creatures  man  alone  can  contemplate 
his  misery:    this  is  his  wisdom;     of  all  creatures 
man  alone  rejects  the  true  remedy  for  his  misery: 
this  is  his  folly. 

It  is  the  ripest  fruit  that  falls  when  the  tree  is 
shaken.     That  would  be  a  consolation  if  only  it 
were  not  equally  true  of  the  poorest  also. 

Anticipation  of   joy  halves  it;  anticipation  of 
sorrow  doubles  it. 

Tears  are  sorrow's  safety  valves.     Who  can  no 
longer  laugh  can  still  cry;  but  who  can  no  longer 
cry  ..... 

The  shed  tears  can  still  have  a  kind  of  sweet- 
ness in  them.     It  is  the  unshed  tears  that  remain 
unspeakably  bitter. 


Both  rich  and  poor  work  with  the  sweat  of  their 
brow.   But  the  poor  work  hard  for  their  bread; 
the  rich  toil  equally  hard  for  their  salt. 

Poverty  and  misery  are  relations,  riches  and 
happiness  are  only  connections. 

Folk  are  never  too  poor,  but  often  too  rich  to  be 

Unhappy  with  poverty?     Then  you  will  hardly 
be  happy  with  riches. 


Poverty  is  apt  to  dispossess  the  man;  riches, 
to  possess  him. 


It  is  from  pride  that  folk  wish  not  to  be  thought 
poor.  It  is  not  from  humility  that  they  wish  not 
to  be  thought  rich. 


The  poor  are  accountable  only  for  themselves; 
the  rich  are  accountable  also  for  the  poor. 

Who  has  still  a  want  is  not  yet  rich;  who  has 
still  a  duty  is  not  yet  poor. 



The  satisfied  man  is  the  richest  and  alas!  also 
the  poorest. 


The  only  real  advantage  the  rich  have  over  the 
poor  is  the  one  the  poor  should  never  crave:  the 
ability  to  purchase  rogues. 

"If  only  riches  were  mine,  what  good  would  not 
I  do  therewith!"     Well,  friend,  is  there  then  no 
good  thou  canst  do  without — dollars? 

To  become  rich,  to  remain  well  is  not  always 
in  our  power.     But  to  become  good,  to  remain 
true  is  ever  in  our  power. 

Men  think  it  is  their  present  riches  they  put 
away  in  the  safe.     It  is  only  their  future  poverty. 

To  think  oneself  rich  is  not  yet  to  be  rich. 
To  think  oneself  poor  is  to  be  poor. 

To  crave  more  than  one  needs — that  is  poverty. 

Not  poverty  degrades,  but  neediness. 

Poverty  may  yet  be  a  blessing;  neediness  is 
always  a  curse. 



Our  necessaries  are  ever  supplied  us  by  a 
gracious  God,  if  we  take  account  of  Him.  It  is 
for  our  luxuries  that  we  are  made  to  pay. 

All  riches  is  sure  to  be  lost  in  time.     Its  pos- 
sessor's chief  concern  is  that  he  be  not  lost  there- 
with also  for  eternity. 

Among  the  rich  there  are  ever  two  kinds:  the 
golden  few,  the  guilded  many. 


Of  the  many  ignorances  of  the  rich  the  fatallest 
is  their  ignorance  of  the  poor:  ignorance  of  their 
standards,  needs,  worth   .    .    . 

The  tragedy  of  the  rich  consists  in  the  abund- 
ance of  bread  with  but  little  capacity  to  digest  the 


I  used  to  pity  the  rich  until  I  saw  many  incap- 
able of  receiving  aught  but  riches,  and  then  I  was 
thankful  for  at  least  this  gift  to  them. 

Who  have  too  little  need  our  sympathy;  who 
have  too  much  may  need  our  pity. 

Wealth   supplies  few  needs,    it   creates  many 



Wealth  is  a  life  preserver :  put  on  rightly  it  will 
save  you ;  put  on  wrongly  it  will  drown  you. 

I  do  not  object  to  riches  having  wings  and  flying 
away.     If  they  only  fly  upward  and  carry  me  with 
them   .    .    . 

Two  men  are  foolish:  who  prizes  riches,  who 
despises  riches. 

Who  teaches  how  to  get  riches  teaches  much; 
but  more  he  who  teaches  how  to  part  therewith. 

Temporal    riches    is    obtained    by    acquiring, 
eternal  by  renouncing. 


To  have  much,  yet  prize  it  little;  to  have  little, 
yet  prize  it  much — this  is  true  riches. 

Poor  indeed  the  man  to  whom  sympathy  is  no 
longer  of  value.     Yet  it  is   only  then  that  he 
attains  to  his  true  riches. 

He  is  truly  rich  who  has  nothing  left  to  be  de- 
prived of. 

Riches  is  measured  by  what  we  own  where'er  it 
may  be.     The  richest  man  is  thus,  who  appre- 
ciates most,  admires  most   .    .    . 



There  is  much  sentimental  chatter  about  riches 
being  a  trust,  a  special  trust  for  being  useful  to 
your  poor  neighbor,  for  doing  much  good  there- 
with in  the  world.  Well,  my  friend,  riches  is  a 
trust.  But  so  is  health,  so  is  intelligence,  skill, 
talent,, and  even  mere  opportunity.  Dear  senti- 
mental chatterer,  by  all  means  ever  consider  thy 
wealth  as  a  trust ;  but  do  not  for  a  moment  forget 
that  it  is  thy  whole  life  that  is  the  trust,  and  the 
proper  use  of  riches  is  only  a  mere  incident 
therein   .    .    . 


Pity  the  man  whose  burden  is  greater  than  he 
can  bear;  but  not  less  pitiful  he  whose  burden  is 
less  than  he  can  bear  .... 

A  common  mistake  of  the  rich :  to  cling  to  the 
dross  after  extracting  the  gold.     A  common  mis- 
take  of  the   poor:    to   reject    the    dross    before 
extracting  the  gold. 

Both  rich  and  poor  are  often  vulgar.     But  in 
the  poor  it  is  the  vulgarity  of  ignorance;  in  the 
rich  the  vulgarity  of  conceit  .... 

Our  riches  tempts  others,  our  poverty  tempts  us. 

A  peculiar  snare  of  the  rich :  to  descend  from 
their  superiority  by  reminding  the  poor  thereof. 

Every  station  in  life  has  its  own  mode  of  illu- 


mination:  the  rich  use  electric  candles,  but 
dimmed  by  ground  glass;  the  comfortably  off  use 
kerosene,  but  with  Rochester  burners;  the  poor 
must  get  on  with  flickering  matches.  .   .  . 

It  has  fallen  to  my  lot  to  know  not  a  few  rich 
folk,  with  a  goodly  opportunity  to  look  deeply 
into  their  lives.  Hardly  one  of  them  would  have 
been  better  off  in  poverty;  but  not  a  single  one 
was  the  better  off  for  the  riches.  My  lot  fell 
chiefly  among  the  serious,  philanthropic  rich.  Of 
honest  aspirations  and  brave  attempts  at  making 
the  most  of  the  opportunities  of  riches  there  was 
an  abundance;  but  the  almost  invariable  end 
was:  the  mountain  labored  and  brought  forth  a 
mouselet.  And  even  the  mouselet  proved  a 
vague,  shadowy  thing.  But  the  vexation  of  spirit, 
the  life-weariness  (where  it  was  not  balanced  by 
delusion)  was  but  too  real  .... 


On  the  other  hand  it  is  to  be  said  of  the  poor: 
that  nearly  every  one  would  have  been  a  gainer 
not  indeed  by  riches  but  by  the  relief  from  the 
pinch  of  poverty.  Few,  however,  but  would  ere 
long  have   been  found   again  where    they   were 



Money  may  place  a  man  upon  his  feet,  righteous- 
ness alone  will  keep  him  there. 

Few  perish  from  the  lack  of  money;   many, 
from  the  love  of  money. 



As  I  stand  on  the  shore  and  gather  pebbles,  the 
horizon  with  its  unbroken  silent  circle  limits  all 
I  can  see.  But  though  mine  eye  of  flesh  would 
fain  tell  me  this  is  all,  mine  eye  of  spirit  tells  of 
much  beyond.  And  if  I  enter  my  skiff,  and  sail 
boldly  forth  to  the  confines  of  the  circle,  lo,  I  am 
in  sight  of  another  circle;  and  advance  I  never  so 
far  I  am  still  as  ever  in  the  centre  of  the  same 
vast  circle. 


In  youth  Truth  is  beholden  as  a  circle,  with  only 
one  point  as  its  centre,  and  every  point  on  the  cir- 
cumference equidistant  therefrom.  Its  aspect  is 
thus  simple,  round.  But  the  mature  man  be- 
holds Truth  no  longer  as  a  circle,  but  as  an 
ellipse,  with  every  point  on  the  circumference  no 
longer  equidistant  from  one  centre,  but  from  two 
foci.  And  now  the  aspect  is  no  longer  so  simple, 
so  round   .    .    . 


To  be  in  error  on  some  one  thing  is  to  be  slave 
in  some  one  spot.  Truth  alone  makes  free,  and 
the  whole  Truth  alone  makes  wholly  free.  And  as 
men  ever  live  as  they  think,  to  think  wrongly  on 
some  one  thing  is  to  do  wrongly  at  some  one  time, 
if  not  at  many  more.  Hence  the  all-importance 
of  Truth  at  any  cost.  Let  happiness  go,  let  life  go, 
let  friends  go,  let  all  go,  but  Truth,  God's  Truth, 
let  it  be  had  at  whate'er  cost   .    .    . 



Like  the  high-spirited  heiress  Truth  must  be 
wooed  solely  for  her  own  sake.  The  riches  that  is 
hers,  the  happiness  she  bestows,  must  not  bribe 
the  suitor  into  the  love  of  her.  Truth  must  be 
loved  not  for  what  she  has,  but  for  what  she 
is.  She  does  not  therefore  mind  to  appear  for 
a  time  in  homely  garb,  even  uninviting.  But  her 
richest  treasure  is  bestowed  only  upon  those  who 
take  her  even  thus — for  her  own  sake. 

Truth  is  ever  ready  to   be  wooed,  but  only 
by  those  who  would  rather  dwell  in  Gehenna 
with  her  than  in  paradise  without  her. 


Virgin  truth  is  apt  to  appear  cold  and  hard. 
It  is  the  part  of  its  marriage  to  the  soul  to  disclose 
her  as  warm  and  tender. 

All  else  owes  its  beauty  to  its  coloring.     Truth 
alone  loses  its  beauty  when  colored. 


Where  there  is  a  struggle  between  light  and 
darkness,  there  is  color.  Color  is  thus  a  milestone 
on  the  way.     It  is  not  yet  its  end. 

The  banknote  is  prized  even  if  soiled  much. 
Truth  cannot  be  prized  if  soiled  ever  so  little. 

Truth  is  like  the  coin :  unfitted  for  legal  tender 
with  the  smallest  hole  therein. 

OF   TRUTH    AND   ERROR  119 


There  is  a  medium  between  all  things,   but 
not  between  truth  and  error. 

Yes  and  No  stand  at  the  extremities  of  Truth. 
Between  these  there  is  a  world  of  half-truths, 
quarter-truths,  tithes  of  truths,  and  the  rest  of 
the  series  of  the  infinity  of  falsehoods. 

Even  the  inferior  man  recognizes  that  every- 
thing has  its  two  sides.     The  superior  man  recog- 
nizes only  the  right  side  and  the  wrong  side. 

Every  truth  has  its  contrary:  the  wise  man 
looks  to  the  truth;  the  fool,  to  the  contrary. 

Truth  is  like  the  cork:  howe'er  often  submerged, 
it  rises  again. 

Truth  is  like  dust:  trodden  under  foot  it  rises 
and  soils  your  head. 

Truth  is  moral  dynamite;  and  like  dynamite,  it 
can  be  laid  down  with  ease,  but  thrown  down 
only  with  an  explosion. 

Truth  is  like  the  taper:    which  even  though 
smothered,  still  emits  white  smoke. 


Men  have  to  find  truth  not  because  it  is  lost, 
but  because  they  are  lost. 



Nothing  is  more  common  than  truth,  what  is 
rare  is  the  knowledge  how  to  get  it.  The  ocean 
has  plenty  of  gold,  the  problem  is  how  to  extract 


Truth  has  ever  these  two  marks.  It  can  always 
be  perverted  by  the  competent  few,  it  is  seldom 
inoffensive  to  the  incompetent  many. 

The  cold  truth?     Then  it  is  not  yet  the  whole 

The  truth  that  only  discourages  is  not  yet  the 
whole  truth. 

Truth  also  intoxicates,  hence  the  need  of  so- 
briety as  well  as  truth. 

Fanaticism  is  truth  alcoholised. 

Enthusiasm  is  to  the  cause  of  truth  what  water 
is  to  fire.     A  little  quickens  it,  much  puts  it  out. 

Enlisted  in  the  cause  of  Truth  Indignation  does 
not  help  it.     Eloquence  endangers  it,  Irony  and 
Ridicule    seldom    serve   it,    Persecution    always 
hurts  it. 

vSatirists   may   spare   themselves    the    trouble. 
Truth,  naked  truth  is  the  real  satire. 

OF    TRUTH    AND    ERROR  12  1 


Truth  has  more  to  fear  from  friends  who  lose 
their  charity  in  its  defence  than  from  foes  who  lose 
their  sense  in  their  attack. 

The  cause  of  Truth  fails  as  often  through  the 
injudiciousness    of    its    friends    as    through    the 
judiciousness  of  its  enemies. 

Truth  is  loved  by  few,  lived  by  still  fewer. 

The  common  man  only  sees  truth,  the  uncom- 
mon man  also  prizes  it. 

Even  the  rogue  regards  truth,  the  honest  soul 
loves  it. 

All   men   love   to    see    truth   prevail   in   their 
neighbor's  yard. 

Who  follows  truth  is  ever  in  sight  of  her,  how- 
e'er  far  ahead  she  be.     Who  goes  ahead  of  truth 
soon  loses  sight  of  her,  howe'er  close  behind  she  be. 


Who  loves  Truth  even  in  the  little  will  soon 
love  her  as  a  whole.  Who  hates  truth  even  in  the 
little  will  soon  hate  her  as  a  whole.  Even  a  small 
hole,  close  to  the  eye,  gives  the  whole  landscape. 
Even  a  speck  upon  the  eye  shuts  off  the  whole 



To  convict  him  the  truth  only  in  your 
mind;  to  convince  him  it  must  be  also  in  his. 

Truth  is  a  searchlight:  in  the  hands  of  those 
wielding  it  it  illumines;  those  who  would  fain  hide 
therefrom  it  confuses. 

Truth  is  uncompromising  even  to  harshness. 
What  little  it  does  relent  is  for  the  sole  purpose 
of  becoming  more  palatable:  the  pill  not  being 
the  worse  for  its  coat  of  sugar. 

The  path  of  truth  to  lead  to  complete  happiness 
should  be  like  that  of  the  planet:  ever  round  its 
sun,  never  away  therefrom,  but  never  approaching 

Man  is  miserable  until  he  finds  truth,  and  is  only 
less  miserable  when  he  has  found  it. 

To  see  the  whole  objectively  apart  from  self,  to 
see  self  objectively  as  part  of  the  whole — this  is 
the  genius  of  truth. 

Every  truth  is  useful,  but  not  necessarily  the 
whole  truth :  the  blanket  covering  the  rest  of  your 
body  keeps  you  warm;  covering  the  head  also,  it 
may  smother  vou. 

We  must  deal  with  Truth  as  we  deal  with  our 
reading :  which  is  best  done  by  attending  to  the 

OF    TRUTH    AND    ERROR  1 23 

words  as  a  whole  rather  than  to  the  letters  sep- 

Who  looks  beyond  a  truth  has  not  yet  reached  it. 

Nothing  hinders  so  much  the  seeing  into  a  thing 
as  the  eagerness  to  see  through  it. 

A  truth  is  best  stated  if  the  hearer  is  left  with 
the  feeling  that  he  could  have  told  it  equally  well. 

All  martyrdom  is  merely  paying  the  price  of  pos- 
sessing truth  in  advance  of  others. 

Who  loves  the  light  even  without  the  heat  must 
still  be  ready  to  burn  away  his  life  in  its  flame. 

Always  speak  truth,  do  not  always  tell  it. 

Be  slow  to  give  others  your  truth;  they  are 
ready  only  for  theirs. 

Consistency  is  the  surest  mark  of  truth,  but  love 
of  consistency  is  not  yet  a  sure  mark  of  love  of 

Men  entertain  truth  as  inn  keepers  entertain 
guests;  who  price  them  high  when  transient,  but 
keep  them  at  reduced  rates  when  permanent. 



Two  dangerous  things:  to  give  voice  to  new 
truth,  to  exact  compliance  with  old  truth. 


Who  loves  men  only  is  apt  to  be  loose  with 
Truth.  Who  loves  Truth  only  is  apt  to  be  rigid 
toward  men.  To  be  loving  to  men  without  dis- 
loyalty to  truth,  to  be  loyal  to  truth  without 
unlovingness  to  men — this  is  to  reach  the  mark. 

Genius  and  Truth  are  always  roommates,  but 
only  occasional  messmates. 


Peace  and  Truth  are  Siamese  twins :  united  in 
separably,  though  not  always  joyously.     Happi- 
ness and  truth  are  solderwork:  hold  together  well 
enough,  till  melted  apart  by  the  first  fire. 

Peace  and  truth  are  like  the  stars :  always  shine 
together.  Happiness  is  to  truth  like  the  moon: 
shines  sometimes  with  the  sun  by  day,  sometimes 
with  the  stars  by  night,  and  is  at  times  absent 

Who  cannot  argue  for  his  truth  can  still  live  for 
it,  and  thus  truly  argue  for  it. 

The  constant  search  for  new  truth  is  largely  the 
unconscious  desire  to  escape  the  need  of  practising 
the  old. 

OF    TRUTH    AND    ERROR  12 5 


Into  truth  men  must  be  led;  into  error  they 
fall  themselves. 


There  are  no  mediators  between  the  soul  and 
truth — it  is  straight  from  the  factory  to  the  con- 
sumer. Error  has  its  numerous  middlemen: 
travelling  agent,  retailer,  purveyor,  peddlar. 

All  like  truth,  few  love  it. 
Familiarity  with  falsehood  makes  it  at  last  a 
truth  to  us.     Familiarity  with  truth  only  makes  it 
a  truism. 

Who  loves  truth  only  because  it  is  useful  will 
not  always  hate  falsehood  even  when  useless. 

It  is  a  waste  of  politeness  to  be  courteous  to  the 
devil.     Only  too  much  care  cannot  be  taken  for 
his  indentification. 

The  best  way  to  deceive  a  knave  is  to  tell  him 
the  truth. 

Time  always  brings  at  last  a  lie  to  light.     It 
does  not  always  keep  truth  from  being  obscured. 

The  many  who  hate  a  lie  nearly  always  hate  also 
the  liar,  the  few  who  love  truth  do  not  always  love 
also  the  truth-teller. 



For  its  foundation  Society  must  have  truth. 
Its  superstructure's  consistent  with  much  fiction. 

692.      N 

Who  tells  falsehood  about  me  misrepresents  me, 
but  who  tells  mere  truth  about  me  does  not  yet 
represent  me.  To  represent  me  he  must  indeed 
tell  truth,  but  truth  told  in  love. 

Every  error  held  in  good  faith  by  the  many  has 
some  truth.     It  is  for  the  large-minded  to  search 
it  out. 

Every   truth   is   eternal;   but  may   become   a 
falsehood  in  time. 

Truth    can    be    had    without    being    sought. 
Possessed  it  can  be  only  after  being  sought. 

Falsehood  only  deludes;  truth  both  sobers  and 
intoxicates.     At  the  last  it  disenchants. 

Even  error  satisfies  when  it  enchants.     It  is  the 
glory  of  Truth  that  it  still  satisfies  even  when  it 

A  lie  has  no  feet  and  cannot  stand?     But  it  has 
wings,  and  can  fly. 

A  lie  is  like  a  wasp:  stings  even  when  dead. 
Truth  is  like  the  bee:  its  honey  is  still  sweet,  even 
if  the  bee  do  sting. 

OF    TRUTH    AND    ERROR  12  7 


A  man  is  divided  by  falsehood  and  united  by 
truth.  Men  are  often  divided  by  truth  and 
united  by  falsehood. 


All  slang  was  once  pure  speech.  Every  error 
had  once  some  truth. 


The  preparation  of  truth  in  the  pill  needs  little 
skill.     It  is  the  coating  that  requires  art. 

All  hate  a  lie,  not  all  hate  the  liar. 

Illusion  lost  is  never  recovered,  truth  found  is 
not  always  retained. 

In  clouds  we  must  all  be.     It  is  only  a  question 
whether  we  shall  in  the  end  find  ourselves  above 
or  below  them. 


Slander  travels  by  express,  the  truth  follows 
in  an  ox-cart. 


Naked  truth  is  seldom  the  whole  truth.  Truth 
must  be  clad;  only  not  in  fiction,  but  poetry. 


The  most  important  truths  are  oft  arrived  at  by 
mere  happy  hits :  but  they  are  the  hits  of  the  fall- 
ing hammer — falling  for  some  time  in  the  pre- 
pared groove. 


709.       • 

"What  is  Truth?"  asked  Pilate,  and  the  Christ 
was  silent.     But  the  philosopher  speaks:  "Truth 
is  correspondence  with  reality." 
"What  is  a  garden,  father?" 
"A  garden,  my  son,  is  a  place  fenced  in." 
"And  what  is  a  Cathedral,  father?" 
"Oh,  it  is  a  tall  building  made  of  stone." 
Philosopher  dear,  it  was  the  greatest  of  your 
guild  that  defined  man  as  a  biped  without  feathers, 
to  be  instantly  refuted  by  the  wag  with  a  plucked 
fowl  in  his  hands. 

Dear  philosopher,  do  you  now  see  why  He  who 
said  I  am  the  Truth  was  silent  when  asked 
what  is  Truth? 

Philosophy  may  seek  for  what  is  Truth.     Re- 
ligion finds  Him  who  is  The  Truth. 


Philosophy  is  of  value  only  when  it  is  Truth  in 
a  frock  coat;  Poetry  is  of  value  only  when  it  is 
Truth  in  full  dress. 


Error  does  for  the  soul  what  the  root  does  for 
the  tree:  assimilates  all  that  is  underground,  in 
the  dark.  Truth  is  to  the  mind  what  the  leaves 
are  to  the  tree :  seeks  light  and  air  for  itself,  and 
gives  shade  to  all  else. 

Error  fishes  with  a  net;  truth,  only  with  a  hook. 

Error  has  its  sole  strength  in  obscurity:  like 
the  firefly  which  shines  only  in  darkness. 

OF    TRUTH    AND    ERROR  1 29 


Error  intoxicates  the  soul  as  wine  does  the  body. 
But  wine  allures  by  its  clearness;  error,  by  its 


Error  is  like  smoke:  dissipates  at  last;  but  not 
before  darkening  a  wider  area  than  the  opening 
whence  it  issues. 

>     Errors  are  really  few  in  number,  only  they  differ 
in  appearance.    A  line  moving  round  a  point  gives 
a  circle  of  countless  points,  but  it  is  the  same  line. 

Errors  are  the  only  possessions  we  must  pay  to 
be  rid  of  them. 

Errors  are  the  same  in  all  ages,  but  disguised  in 
every  age  by  a  new  suit  of  clothes. 

Error  vanishes  before  truth,  but  only  like  water 
before  the  sun:  to  reappear  again  as  cloud  above, 
as  flood  below. 


Because  folk  seldom  know  both  at  once:  what 
is  Truth,  and  how  to  tell  it,  Truth  is  seldom  told: 
by  men,  because  they  seldom  know  the  truth;  by 
women,  because  they  seldom  know  how  to  tell  it 
even  when  they  have  the  truth. 


Deceit  is  the  egg,  suspiciousness  is  its  hatched 



Every  error  soon  finds  its  champion,  since 
every  error  can  be  made  to  appear  plausible,  and 
there  are  always  folk  able  to  make  things  appear 
plausible  .  .  . 


Imagination  rules  the  world  by  deceiving  it. 
Truth  rules  the  world  only  by  remaining  invisible 
— giving  the  imagination  ample  play. 

In  error  we  have  many  companions.     It  is  with 
truth  one  must  walk  lone. 

It  is  the  mark  of  error  that  when  brought  to  the 
fire,  it  does  not  burn,  but  brought  to  the  light  it 

To  start  out  with  doubt  in  search  of  Truth  is 
to  go  forth  to  furnish  a  house  with  only  dust  pan 
and  broom   .    .    . 

Never  is  lack  of  faith  in  one's  cause  shown  so 
much  as  when  willing  to  lie  for  it. 

Both  truth  and  error  keep  open  house;  but  the 
many  visitors  of  error  call  when  it  is  day ;  the  few 
visitors  of  truth  call  in  the  night. 

One  can  ride  two  horses  at  a  time,  one  can  serve 
two  masters  for  a  time;  one  can  even  love  two 
women  at  alternate  times ;  but  one  cannot  see  the 
two  sides  of  a  truth  at  the  same  time. 

OF    TRUTH    AND    ERROR  131 


Repetition   strengthens   a   lie,    but   is   apt   to 
weaken   truth. 


Ornament  ever  adds  to  a  lie,  nakedness  never 
detracts  from  truth. 

Ornament  is  apt  to  disguise  truth;  nakedness 
is  apt  to  disguise  error. 

The  common  mind  first  sees  your  error,  the 
uncommon  mind  first  looks  at  your  truth. 

The  craving  for  fiction  is  due  as  much  to  the 

hunger  for  truth  as  to  the  loss  of  truth. 

The  great  propagator  of  error  is  talk;  its  great 
preserver  is  silence;  its  great  foe  is  discussion. 

The  hideousness  of  sin  fails  to  frighten  its  vo- 
taries; the  plainness  of  truth  suffices  to  scare  its 


The  majority  alone  can  sustain  truth,  the  minor- 
ity alone  contains  it. 

There  is  no  error  but  what  will  soon  unite  folk ; 
no  truth  but  what  will  soon  divide  them. 

The  ignorance   of   the   learned    is   a    malady 
peculiar  to  the  craft.     Who  labors  too  near  the 
light  must  expect  to  get  off  with  weak  eyes. 



Soaring  high  does  not  increase  your  light;  div- 
ing deep  does  increase  your  darkness. 


The  truth  we  owe  to  those  who  have  injured 
us  can  best  be  told  in  anger.  It  is  best  told  in 

The  wounds  inflicted  by  error  can  be  healed  by 
truth.      The  wounds  inflicted   by   truth   can   be 
healed  only  by  grace. 

To  disillusion  folk  without  giving  them  aught 
to  take  the  place  of  their  delusion  is  to  crack  their 
nuts  for  them  only  to  show  them  that  they  have 
only  worms. 

To  maintain  a  truth,  a  thorough  mastery  of  it 
alone  suffices.     To  maintain  a  lie  the  mastery  of 
several  others  is  needful. 

To  save  our  eyes  we  must  not  look  too  steadily 
at  the  sun,  to  save  our  hearts  we  must  not  look 
too  steadily  at  truth. 

To  the  spiritual  man  truth  is  like  steam — 
even  when  not  readily  visible,  yet  hot.  To  the 
common  man  it  is  like  water — can  be  cold,  can 
be  hot,  but  fluid  at  all  times.  To  the  man  of 
culture  it  is  like  ice:  solid  enough,  but  frozen. 

Truth  adorned  only  borders  on  falsehood;  false- 
hood naked  almost  passes  for  truth. 

OF    TRUTH    AND    ERROR  133 


Truth  shines  even  in  darkness,  error  prospers 
only  in  darkness. 

Truth  for  the  worldling  is  like  cod-liver  oil: 
taken  best  disguised. 

Truth  must  indeed  be  as  transparent  as  ice,  but 
it  need  not  therefore  be  as  cold. 

To  study  error  for  the  sake  of  refuting  it  is  to 
marry  a  bad  woman  for  the  sake  of  beating  her 

A  great  catastrophe:  the  collision  of  a  truth- 
seeker  with  a  loaf -seeker. 

The  truth  every  age  must  learn  for  itself ;  error 
is  handed  down  from  generation  to  generation. 

Truth  is  always  true,  extending  as  it  does  back- 
ward and  forward  as  well  as  in  the  present.  Its 
friends  need  ever  to  remember  that  it  extends  also 
forward.  Its  enemies,  unable  to  deny  its  extent 
in  the  past,  comfort  themselves  with  ignoring  its 
extent  into  the  present. 

Truth  is  always  beautiful.     But  naked  truth  is 
apt  to  be  loved  for  its  own  sake.    Adorned  truth 
is  in  danger  of  being  loved  only  for  the  sake  of  the 


Truth  is  a  vast  pyramid  with  its  base  in  the 
ocean.    Only  its  small  apex  is  seen  by  those  sail- 
ing the  wide  sea.    Only  the  bold  diver  is  permitted 
to  sound  its  vast  depth  and  breadth  underneath. 


Truth  is  brought  to  naught  as  much  by  mis- 
pronouncing it  as  by  renouncing  it. 

Truth  should  fit  the  head  as  the  shoe  fits  the 
foot :  which  if  too  snug  swells  it ;  if  too  loose  chafes 

Men  first  discern  the  truth,  they  then  discover 
the  arguments  for  it. 

Truth  is  seldom  divorced,  but  too  often  jilted. 

Truth  has  two  enemies :  the  whole  liar  and  the 
one  per  cent,  liar— with  the  latter  as  the  not  less 
dangerous  of  the  two. 

Only  the  divinely  commissioned  are  the  ones 
to  say  with  Nathan,  Thou  art  the  man!    Others 
best  witness  to  Truth  by  leaving  each  to  cry  for 
himself,  I  am  the  man ! 

The  best  way  to  defend  your  error  is  to  confess 

OF   TRUTH    AND    ERROR  135 


None   deceive   so   successfully  as   the   self-de- 


Error  is  like  green  chestnut  wood:  easy  to  split, 
but  hard  to  burn. 

A  great  mind  beholds  truth;  a  great  soul  lives 

A  whole  lie  is  Satan  in  the  open.     A  half  truth 
is  Satan  in  disguise. 

Light  blinds  more  fatally  than  darkness. 

The  sun  drives  one  oft  into  shelter  from  both 
its  heat  and  light.  The  moon,  with  no  light  of 
its  own,  and  without  heat,  drives  one  into  no 
shelter.  From  the  moon  only  thieves  have  to 
hide   .    .    . 

The  liar  needs  two  things:    a  long. memory,  a 
short  tongue. 

The  printer  reminds  me  that  owing  to  this 
page  being  supplemental,  the  next  one  will  be 
left  blank  if  not  provided  for.  Dear  printer,  he 
is  concerned  only  with  the  provision  against  mere 
typographical  impropriety;  little  aware  that  he 
meanwhile  teaches  the  poor  author  a  most  unex- 


pected  lesson:  The  original,  unbroken  order  of 
the  pages  has  been  departed  from;  and  forthwith 
is  adopted  the  apparently  harmless  or  even  clever 
expedient  of  supplemental  paging,  numbering. 
And  all  goes  on  quite  well,  until  that  unex- 
pected— blank.  .  .  .  Every  human  expedient, 
(once  a  departure  has  been  made  from  the 
heaven-ordained  order),  be  it  never  so  clever, 
never  so  successful  in  the  sight  of  men,  brings 
with  it  in  due  time  the  unreckoned-with — blank ; 
with  its  relentless  demand  to  be  duly  filled 
in.    .    .    . 

And  the  folly  of  all  human  Systems  of  Truth 
is  this    ever-recurring   attempt    to  fill  in  there- 
with  these    from    their    very   nature   unfillable 
blanks.    .    .    . 


Left  out  in  the  rain  the  cask  swelled  and  burst 
its  hoops.    There,  at  last  I  am  rid  of  those  wretch- 
ed bands,  thought  the  cask.     But  when  the  sun 
came  out  it  fell  to  pieces. 

The  dove  when  flying  observed  that  it  had  to 
beat  against  the  air.  It  prayed  to  be  spared  its 
resistance.  The  dove  had  its  prayer  answered, 
and  was  put  into  a  vacuum.  But  on  trying  to 
fly  it  fell  to  the  ground. 

The  acorn  wished  to  become  a  mighty  oak. 
But  when  thrown  into  the  damp  and  darkness  it 
demurred,  and  it  was  released.  Now  I  shall  at 
least  be  a  clean  acorn,  it  said,  once  more  basking 
in  the  sunshine.  But  it  did  not  bask  long.  A 
stray  hog  came  along,  and  readily  put  an  end  to 
acorn's  further  career. 

The  vine  weary  of  clipping  at  last  prayed  to  be 
delivered  therefrom.  The  kindly  husbandman 
heeded  her  request,  and  its  growth  ran  all  into 
wood.  But  when  next  year  the  new  owner  came, 
he  cut  down  the  unprofitable  vine.  . 

"Which  did  you  like  best,  the  one  that  sang 


soprano,  or  the  one  that  sang  alto?"  "I  liked 
best  the  one  who  sang  solo."  The  youth  on  com- 
ing to  manhood  became  a  metaphysician. 

"My  papa  has  a  piazza  on  his  house,  yours 
has  not."  "And  mine  has  a  mortgage  on  his, 
which  yours  has  not."  When  these  children  grew 
up,  the  one  gave  birth  to  a  professor  of  Ethics, 
the  other  to  a  professor  of  Political  Economy. 

An  ass  hearing  the  nightingale  extolled  decided 
to  hear  her  for  himself.  The  nightingale  put 
herself  out,  and  sang  at  her  best.  Most  excellent, 
cried  the  ass,  but  if  you  will  allow  me  a  sugges- 
tion, a  few  lessons  from  my  friend  the  cock  would 
greatly  add  to  your  accomplishments.  You  will 
find  him  scratching  on  the  dunghill.  This  critic 
dates  only  from  Krylof's  time,  but  he  has  an  an- 
cient pedigree  and  numerous  offspring. 


A  man  was  met  of  God  in  a  hay  field,  and  was 
there  converted.  Full  of  joy  he  meets  his  neigh- 
bor. "Have  you  found  the  Lord?"  "Yes,  praise 
His  name,  long  ago."  "Where  did  you  find 
Him?"  "One  day  in  my  chamber."  "You  are 
mistaken,  friend.  A  man  cannot  truly  find  God 
unless  in  a  hay  field."  This  man  afterwards  be- 
came a  theologian. 


The  inhabitants  of  a  quiet  village  were  once 
alarmed  by  the  cry  of  Wolves !  They  rush  to  the 
town  hall.  They  debate,  discuss,  deliberate.  At 
last  they  decide  that  each  go  home  and  get  his 


gun.  But  as  they  rushed  out  they  were  met  at 
the  door  by  the  wolves.  They  had  all  been  hon- 
est agnostics. 

'T  tell  you  I  once  succeeded  in  taking  in  a 
whole  town!"  "Indeed!  And  how  did  you  do 
it?"  "You  see,  my  name  is  Smith,  and  I  told 
them  it  was  Jones."  When  this  man  found 
himself,  he  became  a  successful  writer  of  fiction. 

A  cat  was  caught  by  its  mistress  eating  its 
dainty  fish.  "O,  you  thief,  skitch,  skitch!"  The 
cat  still  eats.  "Well,  did  you  ever!  You  beast, 
skitch,  skitch!"  The  cat  still  eats.  "You  nasty 
thing,  I  will  make  you  ashamed  of  yourself,"  and 
she  grabs  the  poker.  The  cat  now  does  start 
away,  only  to  finish  the  fish  in  the  shed  instead 
of  the  kitchen.  The  husband  of  the  owner  of  the 
fish  was  a  writer  on  Education. 

On  arriving  at  the  summit  of  Vesuvius  the 
rest  of  the  party  admired  the  view.  He  alone 
saw  the  lava,  and  observed,  What  a  fine  spot  for 
baking  potatoes !  In  due  time  he  became  the  an- 
cestor of  a  race  of  financiers. 

A  belated  owl  found  itself  in  daylight  before 
it  had  time  to  return  to  its  haunt.  The  glare 
hurt  its  eyes,  and  it  prayed  that  the  good  Lord 
would  be  pleased  to  put  out  the  sun.  The  Lord 
heard  its  prayer,  but  instead  of  putting  out  the 
sun  He  merely  transferred  it  to  its  dark  abode. 
Ever  after  the  owl  has  had  much  to  say  about  un- 



answered  prayer.    Too- whit,  too  who!   Two-whit, 
too  who! 

A  man  was  arrested  on  the  charge  of  stealing  a 
cow;  but  on  proving  that  he  owned  the  animal 
ever  since  it  was  a  calf  he  was  discharged.  A 
fellow-prisoner,  who  was  charged  with  stealing  a 
gun,  on  hearing  this,  set  up  as  his  defence  that  he 
had  owned  the  gun  ever  since  it  was  a  pistol.  He 
was  sent  to  prison,  but  he  reformed,  and  in  time 
became  a  successful  lecturer  on  Evolution. 

A  traveller  ascended  a  high  mountain  carrying 
a  parrot  in  a  cage.  When  they  came  to  the  sum- 
mit, an  eagle  flew  by.  "Well,  well,"  exclaimed 
the  parrot,  "who  would  have  ever  thought  that 
the  parrot  and  the  eagle  would  at  last  be  soaring 
over  the  same  heights!  " 


All  strength  for  action  consists  of  two  halves: 
faith  and  hope;   love  makes  it  shine. 

Faith,  hope,  love,  is  the  order  of  their  longevity. 
Faith  may  die  in  the  autumn,  hope  may  live  into 
the  winter,  love  lives  through  the  winter. 

Faith  designs  the  bridge,  hope  throws  it  across 
the  gulf,  love  crosses  it. 

The  great  end  of  life  is  love;   its  great  means, 
hope;   its  great  method,  faith. 

The  door  of  faith  cannot  be  shut  without  shut- 
ting also  the  door  of  hope.    And  between  the  two 
love  also  is  tightly  shut  in. 

Want  of  faith  springs  from  too  much  knowledge ; 
want  of  love,  from  too  little;  want  of  hope,  from 

Which   first,    Faith,    love,    hope?      I    conceive 
them  as  an  equilateral  triangle:     at  every  turn 
each  of  the  three  points  is  at  the  top. 



Pure  faith  can  dwell  only  in  a  clean  heart ;  pure 
love,  only  in  a  clear  head. 


Faith  is  the  sixth  sense  added  to  the  natural 
man  from  above  after  he  surrenders  the  other  five. 

Anxiety   and   faith   have  the   same   ancestry: 
ignorance  of  the  future;  but  faith  takes  account 
of  the  ever  Present  One. 

Shut  the  door  against  faith,  in  comes  credulity. 

True  faith  is    like  the   sunflower:     keeps  ever 
sunward  even  when  not  shined  upon. 

It  is  a  low  faith  that  moves  mountains.     The 
higher  faith  crosses  them,  the  highest  lets  them 


It  is  faith  never  to  despair,  and  it  is  still  faith  to 
toil  on  even  in  despair. 

Reason  is  the  eye;    faith,  the  telescope  where- 
with to  see  the  things  beyond  the  range  of  reason. 

Probability  of  speculation  as  a  guide  of  life  is 
to  the  certainty  of  Faith  what  the  odors  of  the 
roast  are  to  the  roast  itself:  they  may  stave  off 
starvation  for  a  while,  they  cannot  sustain  life  in 
the  end. 

FAITH,    LOVE,    HOPE  143 


There  is  an  opposition  between  Faith  and  Rea- 
son, but  it  is  the  opposition  of  Upper  and  Under, 
of  Right  and  Left,  of  Light  and  Shadow;  each 
part  of  the  other,  distant  but  not  separate.  Faith 
is  grounded  in  reason,  reason  rests  on  faith. 

Faith   is   that   firm   assurance   of   the   verities 
which  discards  their  proofs  even  to  the  point  of 
being  forgotten. 

Faith  is  a  realization  not  so  much  that  you  feel 
better  toward  God — this  is  only  repentance;    as 
that  He  feels  better  toward  you. 

True  love  betwixt  human  folk — not  that  silly 
thing  betwixt  the  sexes  that  has  stolen  away  all 
the  glories  of  the  genuine  love  of  fellow-man  for 
fellow-man  of  whate'er  sex — is  such  a  delicate, 
frail  thing,  so  easily  wounded,  crushed.  And  yet 
its  very  glory  consists  in  fluttering  on,  and  beating 
on,  and  bleeding  on,  maugre  the  wormwood  and 
gall  that  oft  it  receives  for  its  support. 

The  one  thing  in  which  human  nature  shows  its 
greatest  skill  is  in  misknowing  the  true  friend. 
The  one  thing  few  are  able  to  receive,  few  able  to 
understand,  is  disinterested  love,  where  it  is  not 
clannish.  (For  the  clannish  love,  even  at  its 
noblest,  like  that  of  the  mother  for  the  child,  is 
only  still  a  phase  of  my,  though  its  beauty  is  as- 
sured by  its  having  the  divine  stamp.)     But  dis- 


interested  love,  nobler  even  than  that  of  the 
lover  for  the  unworthy  maiden — it  is  not  even 
misunderstood;   it  is  simply  not  understood. 

Such  a  love  is  the  only  divine  love.  Blessed  he 
who  loveth  solely  because  he  loves  to  love;  and 
the  test  of  such  love  is  the  readiness  with  which  is 
accepted  its  inevitable  wage — bitter  sorrow.  Few 
are  worthy  of  such  love,  and  so  seldom  are  even 
those  few  found  that  only  disappointment  can  be 
its  portion.  Mayhap  this  was  ordained  to  teach 
such  divine  souls  to  have  fellowship  with  Him  who 
is  the  great  unappreciated,  neglected  Lover  of 
men.  God  is  the  great  Misknown  Friend  of  man; 
unheeded,  un-understood  ....  And  not  until  one 
is  born  from  above  in  the  only  God-appointed 
way  is  one  able  to  bestow  it,  or  fit  to  receive  it. 

The  soul  has  a  skin  as  well  as  the  body.  But  in 
the  carnal  it  is  self-will,  or  self-love;  in  the  spiritual 
it  is  this  divine  Love.  Both  are  easily  wounded. 
But  when  self-love  is  wounded,  it  feels  also  re- 
sentment; when  divine  love  is  wounded  it  can 
feel  only  pain. 

What  is  loveable  does  not  yet  fully  deserve  our 
love  as  long  as  we  see  therein  only  what  we  do  see. 
What  makes  it  loveable  is  that  it  contains  much 
more  than  we  see  therein. 

All  may  dispense  love,   no  one  can  dispense 
with  love. 

FAITH,    LOVE,    HOPE  145 


All  greatness  must  begin  with  an  uncommon 
head,  it  can  continue  only  with  an  uncommon 

Appreciation  is  sight,  admiration  is  love.    Folk 
do  not  appreciate  because  they  have  not  head 
enough;    they  do  not  admire  because  they  have 
not  heart  enough. 

Argument  seldom  even  convinces,  and  this  with 
many  words.     Love  may  even  convict,  and  this 
with  few  words. 

Both  love  and  hatred  are  blind;    but  love  is 
blind  to  faults;   hatred  to  merits. 

Both   love   and   hatred   prove   themselves   by 
telling  the  truth.    But  love  tells  it  in  love;  hatred, 
in  hatred. 

By  loving  the  loveable  you  show  forth  their 
worth;     by  loving  the  hateful  you  show  forth 

Even  the  small  soul  can  love  in  return,  only  the 
great  soul  hates  not  in  return. 

Every  lover  has  a  literature  of  his  own  writ  by 
his  heart  on  the  trees  among  which  his  beloved 
hath  trod,  on  the  stones  on  which  she  hath  sat. 



Men  may  see  best  with  closed  eyes,  they  may 
hear  best  with  closed  ears,  they  may  even  speak 
best  with  closed  lips;  but  they  can  love  best  only 
with  open  hearts. 


Men  seldom  love  those  they  agree  with  merely 
because  they  agree;  they  often  dislike  those  they 
disagree  with  because  they  disagree. 

Open  mouth  and  open  ears  seldom  go  together ; 
open  heart  and  open  hands  must  go  together. 

The  great  love  what  they  find  in  the  beloved; 
the  small,  what  they  get  from  the  beloved. 

Two  loves  are  not  yet  love:    the  love  that  does 
not  dare,  the  love  that  does  despair. 

True  love  is  known  by  its  kinship ;  it  must  have 
knowledge  for  its  parent;   discretion  for  its  child. 

The  pains  of  love  survive  the  love  itself.    Love 
is  thus  an  annuity:    yields  an  income  long  after 
the  departure  of  the  principal. 

The  highest  love  is  like  the  lightning  rod,  which 
shields  those  beneath  by  receiving  the  bolt  itself. 

The  only  way  to  attain  to  your  superior  is  to 
love  him. 

FAITH,    LOVE,    HOPE  147 


The  ministry  to  self-consciousness  either  in 
yourself  or  in  others  is  the  business  of  the  vulgar. 
Noble  it  is  only  in  lovers. 

The  love  that  has  stood  one  year's  separation 
may  stand  twenty.    But  the  love  that  has  stood  a 
thousand  miles  of  separation  may  not  stand  a  foot 
of  nearness. 


Two  wounds  are  long  in  healing:  the  wound 
from  our  love  for  others,  the  wound  to  our  love  of 

Do  many  love  you?     The  merit  is  probably 
theirs.    Do  many  hate  you?    The  fault  is  probably 
yours  as  well  as  theirs. 


True  love  has  these  two  marks :  it  is  first  tender, 
then  enduring. 


True  love  to  men  reverses  the  housekeeper's 
way,  and  opens  the  windows  to  the  setting  rather 
than  the  rising  sun. 

To  be  in  love  is  to  carry  about  a  piece  of  coal  in 
the  belief  that  it  is  a  diamond.    To  walk  in  love  is 
to  be  ever  transforming  the  coal  into  diamond. 

To  love  man  is  not  necessarily  to  love  men  . . . 



To  love  the  loveable  is  human,  to  love  the 
despicable — this  is  divine. 


Pure  love  is  proof  against  all  the  deadly  poisons 

but  one:     deliberate,  protracted  cruelty  at  the 

hands  of  the  beloved — this  alone  kills  a  pure  love, 

but  solely  because  it  kills  also  the  beloved  oneself. 

Love  sees  because  it  loves,  hatred  hates  because 
it  is  blind. 

When  the  heart  is  given  away,  it  is  henceforth 
mortgaged  with  a  veritable  pledge  of  death.  Shall 
we  then  not  love?  Not  if  peace  is  a  higher  prize 
than  love.  But  if  peace  be  the  highest  prize,  then 
the  graveyard  is  the  one  prized  spot  on  earth. 


Nothing  so  bitter  as  injustice  from  those  we 
love.  Since  mere  justice  we  expect  from  all,  from 
those  we  love  we  expect  also  partiality. 

When  the  heart  changes  lovers  it  is  because  it 
has  not  yet  been  in  love  with  a  soul,  but  only  in 
love  with  love. 

Who  loves  only  some  men  will  be  loved  by 
many.    Who  loves  all  men  will  be  loved  by  some 
and  hated  by  many. 

Who  is  loved  by  many  will  surely  be  hated  by 
some.    Who  is  hated  by  many  will  not  necessarily 
be  loved  by  any. 

FAITH,    LOVE,    HOPE  149 


Our  hearts  were  meant  to  be  so  filled  with  love 
to  God  and  man,  that  every  time  we  think  of 
man  we  think  of  both :  praying  the  One  to  bless, 
the  other  to  be  blessed  .... 

High  love  with  one's  own  heart  is  rare.     Deep 
hatred  with  the  heart  of  others  is  frequent. 

Unrequited  love  is  hunger  unsatisfied,   thirst 
unquenched,  sorrow  unconsoled,  agony  unrelieved, 
misery  that  cannot  be  drowned. 

To  rise  you  must  love  your  superior;    to  keep 
from  falling  you  must  love  also  your  inferiors. 


When  we  like  others  it  is  chiefly  because  we 
know  not  yet  enough  of  them.  When  we  dislike 
others  it  is  chiefly  because  we  know  not  yet 
enough  of  ourselves. 


Man  is  a  natural  lover  when  he  lives  either  in 
the  basement  or  upstairs.  He  is  a  hater  only 
when  he  lives  on  the  ground  floor. 

Who  is  able  to  help  is  not  yet  poor,  who  is  able 
to  love  is  not  yet  old. 

Who  has  not  known  sorrow  has  not  yet  begun 
to  understand  life;    who  has  not  loved,  has  not 
yet  begun  even  life  itself. 


To  become  beloved  one  needs  only  to  be  able  to 
give;  to  remain  beloved  one  must  also  be  able  to 
receive.     _ 


We  love  in  others  as  much  what  we  bring  to 
them  as  what  they  bring  to  us. 

Love,  like  the  sea,  levels  all  things  by  covering 
them  with  itself. 

Love  is  the  only  possession  of  which  the  more 
one  gives  the  less  thereof  he  parts  with. 

Love  makes  copper  look  like  gold.    Gold  makes 
love  look  like  copper. 

A  great  love  shows  itself  even  in  little  things; 
a  great  hatred  is  more  politic  and  waits  with  its 
display  for  the  great  things. 

Fever  consists  of  cold  and  heat :  it  is  measured 
by  the  heat.     Life  consists  of  indifferences  and 
loves:  it  is  measured  by  its  loves. 

Folk  are  liked  chiefly  for  what  they  are;  they 
are  loved  for  what  they  have. 

Friendship   is   more   like   the   echo,    returning 
only  what  is  given.    Love  is  more  like  the  pump : 
returns  by  the  pail  what  it  receives  by  the  pint. 

FAITH,    LOVE,    HOPE  151 


Humility  removes  the  cataract,  love  renovates 
the  eye. 

If  you  have  talents,   love  will  enhance  their 
presence;  if  you  have  none,  love  will  make  up  for 
their  absence. 

It  needs  as  much  charity  to  let  folk  be  miserable 
in  their  way  as  to  make  them  happy  in  yours. 

Justice  without  love  is  only  hard,  wisdom  with- 
out love  is  foolish. 

Love  has  seldom  much  to  learn,  but  always 
much  to  forget. 

Love  is  a  flame ;  and  like  the  flame  loses  naught 
of  its  own  by  lighting  a  thousand  others. 

Love  is  an  epoch  before  marriage,  it  is  apt  to 
be  only  an  episode  after  marriage. 

Love  is  a  passion  which   comes   folk   seldom 
know  how.     It  goes — they  but  too  often  know 


Love  is  a  vine:  produces  in  abundance,  but  will 
not  do  its  best  till  twined  round  another. 



Love  is  friendship  dressed  for  a  reception. 
Friendship  is  love  fresh  from  God's  hand:  like 
Adam  in  Paradise,  and  equally — innocent. 

Love  is  like  the  seat  in  the  coach;  made  only 
for  two;  friendship  is  like  the  settee,  made  for 

Love  is  indeed  the  greater  of  the  three;  since 
in  addition  to  itself  it  is  also  faith  and  hope  com- 

Ice  can  be  made  even  by  means  of  heat;  hatred 
can  be  evoked  even  by  love. 

Love  will  not  speak  evil  of  any,  but  neither 
will  it  speak  good  of  all. 

Man  is  a  natural  lover.     It  is  experience  and 
culture  that  make  him  a  hater. 

One  may  think  best  in  English  and  feel  best  in 
German;  one  may  chat  best  in  French  and  sing 
best  in  Italian ;  one  may  scold  best  in  Russian  and 
pray  best  in  any  tongue;  but  love  is  best  uttered 
only  in  silence. 

Only  he  can  truly  love  men  who  has  first  learned 
to  despise  man. 

Our  borrowed  hatreds  are  apt  to  be  more  nu- 

FAITH,    LOVE,    HOPE  1 53 


Precept  stakes  the  path  out,  experience  hoes  it 
o'er;  sorrow  rakes  it  about,  religion  smooths  it  off; 
love  tramps  it  down,  and  thus  makes  it  good 

Scientific  charity — I  know  not  how  much  good 
it  does  to  those  who  receive  it ;  but  I  do  know  the 
harm  it  does  to  those  who  give  it. 

Men  love  their  neighbors  either  when  they  know 
much  of  God  or  little  of  men. 

Some  one  has  slandered  Love  by  saying  it  is 
blind.  Foolish  love  is  blind,  like  all  folly.  But 
genuine  love  has  keen  enough  sight.  Only  what 
makes  it  genuine  Love  is  that  it  refuses  to  look 
at  what  is  best  not  seen. 


Some  souls  are  made  for  science,  some  for  art; 
others  for  adventure,  exploration,  invention,  af- 
fairs. Others  again  are  made  for  farming,  sports, 
fishing,  sailing,  animal  love.  But  the  pure,  ethereal 
soul  is  made  for  just — love.  Love  is  the  element 
wherein  such  soul  revels.  What  air  is  to  the  fowl, 
water  to  the  fish,  fire  to  smoke,  the  ether  to  light, 
the  very  heavens  to  the  mind  of  God — that  is  love 
to  such  soul:  love  of  the  beautiful,  the  true,  above 
all  love  to  beauty  in  souls,  to  beautiful  souls. 

And  the  lover,  alas!  is  seldom  good  for  aught 
else  than  making  love. 



Sternness  is  the  best  mode  of  instructing  human 
nature,  but  as  omniscience  alone  sees  all  the  re- 
sults thereof,  love  is  for  man  the  safest  way. 

The  fog  enveloping  the  lover  becomes  the  halo 
round  the  maiden. 

There  is  a  kindness  which  is  the  ashes  of  love; 
but  unlike  ashes  has  no  fertilizing  value. 

There  is  no  true  friendship  without  much  love ; 
there  is  much  love  without  true  friendship. 

Those  who  love  us  most  we  seldom  appreciate ; 
those  we  appreciate  most  seldom  love  us. 

We  must  love  the  wicked :  not  because  of  what 
goodness  is  yet  in  them,  but  because  of  what  bad- 
ness is  yet  in  us. 

When  the  need  of  love  has  been  burnt  into  the 
soul  it  is  fit  for  this  life.  When  the  need  of  pa- 
tience has  been  burnt  into  the  soul,  it  is  fit  for  the 


Who  loves  too  much  does  not  yet  love  enough. 

True  love  is  like  the  poplar:  however  old  it  ever 
looks  young. 

FAITH,    LOVE,    HOPE  155 


To  know  men  you  must  love  them;   to  know 
the  world  you  only  need  to  have  loved  it. 


To  know  men  you  must  love  them ;  to  love  them 
*    it  is  not  always  best  to  know  them. 

Charity  should  steer  our  lives  as  the  rudder 
steers  the  ship,  and  like  the  rudder  should  be 
keep  not  in  front,  but  behind. 

Knowledge  may  lengthen  hands  and  feet;  love 
adds  wings. 

Lovers,  the  wider  their  separation,  the  nearer 
they  are. 

Self-love   is  an   excellent   critic:    but    only   of 
others  and  not  of  oneself.     And  this  vitiates  the 
criticism  of  others. 

To  go  through  life  without  love — who  would 
travel  through  the  world  with  the  curtains  of  the 
carriage  drawn  over  the  windows,  to  be  shielded 
from  sun  and  wind? 

Both  selfishness  and  love  have  keen  sight:  but 
selfishness  looks  through  a  microscope,  and  sees 
only  what  is  small  or  near;  love  looks  through  a 
telescope,  and  sees  what  is  great  or  far. 




The  discovery  that  I  must  beware  of  those  who 
hate  me  came  early,  and  this  I  found  in  nowise 
costly.  The  discovery  that  I  must  beware  of 
those  I  love  came  later,  and  this  I  found  very 
costly   .    .    . 


Friendship  is  a  well :  however  deep  it  never 
overflows.  Love  is  a  fountain:  however  narrow 
it  always  overflows. 


The  Christless  in  his  better  mood  knows  that 
the  best  remedy  against  paralyzing  pessimism  is 
love.     Christianity  furnishes  that  love. 

The  carnal  man  knows  only  Thou  shalt  love 
thy  neighbor  as  thyself.  The  moral  man  knows 
also  We  ought  to  lay  down  our  lives  for  the 
brethern — loving  them  more  than  ourselves.  The 
spiritual  man  knows  a  love  that  is  to  be  measured 
not  even  by  a  superlative :  Thou  shalt  love  the 
Lord  thy  God  with  all  thy  heart  and  all  thy  mind, 
and  all  thy  soul,  and  all  thy  strength. 

Honesty   is   shown   in   the   manner   in   which 
creditors  are  remembered;  love  is  shown  in  the 
manner  in  which  debtors  are  remembered. 

A  great  mind  is  content  if  he  have  but  one 
great  thought  in  the  day.     A  great  heart  is  not 
content  until  it  has  a  great  love  throughout  the 

FAITH,    LOVE,    HOPE  1 57 


The  knowledge  which  does  not  make  us  love  is 
not  yet  the  highest;  the  love  which  does  not 
make  us  know  is  not  yet  the  deepest. 

Love  is  the  one  talent  within  reach  of  all. 

The  envious  by  their  envy  confess  their  inferi- 
ority;   the    appreciative    by    their    appreciation 
display  their   equality;    the  forgiving  by    their 
forgiveness  show  forth  their  superiority. 

The  love  that  only  covers  defects  is  like  paint 
and  putty :    useful,  indeed,  but  equally  superficial. 


The  lesson  the  unsaved  need  burnt  into  them  is 
the  unceasing  need  of  love.  The  saved  need  the 
same  lesson,  but  with  the  additional  need  of 


Many  are  the  cures  for  a  good  lover;  none  for 
a  good  hater. 


God  is  Love ;  this  is  the  character  He  gives  of 
Himself  in  His  Book.  And  love  is  that  which 
can  be  comprehended  by  all.  The  mother  has 
hers;  the  husband  has  his;  the  friend,  the  kindly, 
the  compassionate — they  all  have  theirs.  Even 
the  slave  has  his  for  the  master,  which  love  is 
duplicated  even  among  the  sub-humans  in  the 
devotion  of  the  dog  to  his.     But  none  of  these 


loves  give  yet  even  a  glimmer  of  the  love  of 
God — the  love  of  God  shed  abroad  in  the  hearts 
of  the  regenerate  by  the  Spirit.  Only  those  be- 
gotten of  the  Spirit  know  it,  only  they  compre- 
hend it. 

And  but  for  one  statement  concerning  it  in 
Holy  Writ  it  would  remain  mere  sound  to  the 
unregenerate.  "  Like  as  a  father  pitieth  his 
children  so  doth  Jehovah  pity  them  that  fear 
him  "  furnishes  them  with  at  least  a  clue  thereto. 
No  mother  would  ever  give  her  child  in  order  to 
save  thereby  that  of  another  except  in  war, 
where  the  case  is  complicated  by  the  atmosphere. 
But  God  did  give  His  only-begotten  Son  that 
others  through  Him  be  saved.  Among  all 
earthly  loves — all  noble  (because  heaven-or- 
dained), in  their  way — the  love  of  a  father  for 
a  child  stands  forth  unique:  the  only  love  to 
which  the  love  of  the  Father  can  at  all  be  likened. 
It  is  this  alone  that  made  David's  cry  "  O 
Absalom  my  son,  oh  my  son  Absalom,  would  I 
had  died  for  thee  !."  at  all  intelligible.  And 
Absalom  was  his  father's  enemy.  .  .  .  God's 
hatred  of  sin,  His  holiness  is  measured  by  the 
fact  that  even  His  Son  must  die  as  long  as  sin 
was  (not  in  Him  but)  upon  Him.  God's  Love  to 
even  His  enemies  is  measured  by  the  fact  that 
even  His  Only-begotten  Son  is  given  over  to  the 
shame  and  death  of  the  Cross  as  long  as  this 
is  the  only  means  whereby  to  save  perishing 
men   .    .    . 

Love  sees  faults,  hatred  looks  at  them. 

FAITH,    LOVE,    HOPE  1 59 


Two  souls  lose  our  affection  after  gaining  it: 
who  progresses  not  with  us;  who  has  progressed 
beyond  us. 

Love  sees  what  is  good  in  a  friend,  charity  sees 
it  also  in  the  enemy. 

Charity  is  like  the  sun :  which  makes  even  the 
mud  to  shine. 



Who  sees  most  censures  least. 

Only  look  far  enough,  and  even  parallel  lines 
at  last  merge  into  one. 

By  all  means  expect  no  one  to  be  without  fault, 
only  be  sure  not  to  be  on   the  lookout   for  that 

It  is  always  safe  to  judge  a  man  from  one  good 
deed;  it  is  never  safe  to  judge  him  from  one  bad 
deed.    A  bad  man  is  always  himself;  a  good  man, 
not  always. 

Of  my  neighbor  tell  me  only  what  is  good. 
What  is  bad  I  can  find  out  for  myself. 

You  see  him  act  meanly?    Be  patient — that  is 
his  heritage.    You  see  him  act  nobly?    Date  him 
from  this  act — now  he  is  himself. 


A  frequent  but  great  blunder :  judging  the  qual- 
ity of  the  honey  by  the  sting  of  the  bee. 



Praise  is  not  so  sure  a  proof  that  you  already 
see  all.  Censure  is  a  proof  that  you  as  yet  see  not 


If  you  find  out  your  neighbor's  character  all  at 
once,  it  is  because  either  he  is  a  fool  or  you  are 


In  fighting  unreasonableness,  we  are  in  great 
danger  of  becoming  unreasonable  ourselves. 


It  is  certain  that  no  one  is  wholly  good.  Not 
so  certain  that  any  one  is  wholly  bad. 

It  is  on  the  whitest  cloth  that  the  spot  is  most 

"It  is  the  poorest  fruit  that  falls  when  the  tree 
is  shaken!"     Not  so  fast,  friend.     It  is  the  ripest 
also  that  falls  then. 

It  is  the  sweetest  wine  that  gives  the  sourest 

Men  are  never  so  forgetful  of  what  they  should 
do  in  their  own  place  as  when  telling  what  they 
would  do  in  another's. 

It  is  at  the  sweetest  fruit  that  the  birds  are 


Half  of  what  we  hear  is  seldom  so,  the  other 
half  is  not  exactly  so. 

A  man  may  easily  be  judged  from  the  kind  of 
friends  he  makes,  from  the  kind  of  books  he  likes. 
Not  so  easily  from  the  kind  of  occupation  he 
chooses,  from  the  kind  of  wife  he  has. 

Condemn  not  one  until  you  have  been  in  his 

Condemn  no  one.    If  repentant,  he  has  already 
judged  himself.     If  unrepentant,  God  shall  surely 
judge  him. 

"Even  the  sun  has  its  spots,  you  know."    Yes, 
but  they  can  be  seen  only  through  smoked  glasses 


Laugh  at  the  ass's  bray  to  your  heart's  con- 
tent, only  do  not  let  it  prejudice  you  against  his 
long  ears. 


One  of  the  hardest  things  to  remember  is  that 
mankind  consists  of  only  men  and  women. 


One  of  the  hardest  things  to  remember:  that 
your  neighbor's  blood  is  as  red  as  yours. 

Who  dwells  with  pleasure  on  the  faults  of  others 
only  shows  forth  his  own. 



"The  curtain  is  imperfect,  it  has  a  rent!"  But 
it  proves  only  to  be  the  opening  between  its  two 


Hardly  a  noble  piece  of  work  but  some  flaw 
could  be  found  therein.  But  our  eyes  are  so  made 
that  they  profit  more  by  looking  at  the  beauties 
than  for  the  blemishes. 

There  is  a  lesson  in  the  Sun:  its  light  and  heat 
are  to  be  enjoyed  by  all,  its  spots  are  to  be  looked 
at  by  the  few. 

To  remember  his  fault  after  his  repenting  there- 
of is  to  punish  one  man  for  the  mischief  done  by 

What  makes  even  just  condemnation  so  un- 
just is  that  folk  are  seldom  condemned  for  what 
they  do  without  being  condemned  at  the  same 
time  for  what  they  are  merely  thought  capable 
of  doing. 

The  weaknesses  of  others  if  dwelt  upon  become 

Persistent  condemnation  of  another  is  sure  to- 
ken of  some  subtle  condemnation  of  self. 

To  hate  the  unworthy  is  to  punish  yourself  for 
their  unworthiness. 



To  judge  the  individual  by  the  race  is  unjust 
to  him ;  to  judge  the  race  by  the  individual  is  un- 
just to  yourself. 


To  praise  one  for  not  being  as  bad  as  he  might 
be  is  unintelligent  charity;  to  blame  one  for  not 
being  as  good  as  he  should  be  is  equally  unintelli- 
gent policy. 


Who  speaks  evil  of  others  thinks  he  is  describ- 
ing them — he  is  only  photographing  himself. 

Before  sitting  down  at  his  trial,  make  sure  that 
you  are  at  least  his  peer. 

Who  has  an  eye  for  the  weaknesses  of  others 
has  seldom  one  for  his  own. 

It  is  well  to  see  the  littleness  of  others,  only  in 
theirs  we  must  see  also  ours. 

Of  all  faultfinding  the  silliest  is  with  what  is 

When  Satan  fails  in  driving  folk  into  their  own 
Sin,  he  succeeds  in  setting  them  to  judge  the  sins 
of  others. 

To  gaze  long  on  the  exceeding  sinfulness  of 
ourselves  makes  us  weaklings ;  to  gaze  long  on  the 
exceeding  sinfulness  of  others  makes  us  tyrants. 



Only  he  has  a  right  to  reproach  who  is  ready 
to  correct  or  relieve;  and  even  he  had  best  not 
avail  himself  thereof. 


I  never  judge  methods  three  thousand  miles 
away,  said  Wendell  Phillips  once  in  my  hearing. 
After  nigh  forty  years  I  am  compelled  to  add,  I 
never  judge  motives  even  an  inch  away.  Men 
seldom  know  even  their  own  motives,  and  are 
still  less  competent  to  understand  those  of  others. 

We  need  much  time  to  learn  that  we  are  greater 
sinners  than  we  think.     We  need  more  time  to 
learn  that  others  are  not  so  great  sinners  as  we 

Were  we  to  spend  our  leisure  in  improving  our 
own  ills  we  should  have  none  left  for  dwelling 
upon  those  of  our  neighbors. 

We  must  ever  carry  two  standards:  one  for 
judging    ourselves;    the    other    for    judging    our 

Two  things  we  are  safe  in  not  believing:  half 
the  good  said  of  us;  nearly  all  the  ill  spoken  of 

The  ill ,  in  folk  is  discerned  more  readily  than 
the  good.     Does  this  then  prove  his  corruption? 
Possibly;  but  it  surely  proves  yours. 



The  vessel  that  holds  not  water  may  still  hold 
grain.  It  matters  not  so  much  what  one  cannot 
do  as  what  one  can  do. 

Shadows  indicate  the  presence  of  light  as  well 
as  its  absence. 

Hesitation  is  the  sign  as  much  of  the  abundance 
of  ideas  as  of  their  scarcity. 

We  need  much  time  to  learn  that  we  are  greater 
sinner  than  we  think.     We  need  more  time  to 
learn  that  others  are  not  so  great  sinners  as  we 

I  hear  it  often  said,  "You  cannot  live  on  air," 
but  hardly  ever,  "You  cannot  live  without  air." 
Deficiencies  are  more  striking  than  merits. 

The  pupil  of  the  eye  contracts  in  the  light  and 
dilates  in  the  dark :  perhaps  to  teach  us  the  need 
of  enlarged  vision  in  the  presence  of  all  darkness. 

However  dark  the  wall,  the  match  can  still  be 
lighted  thereat. 

If  anything  grows  in  ashes,  something  may  yet 
be  made  to  grow  by  ashes. 



Lay  not  up  against  your  neighbor  the  sin  of 
yesterday.    He  may  have  repented  thereof  today. 

A  man's   work   may   be   freely  criticised;  his 
actions,  not  so  freely. 

A  great  desideratum:  an  imagination  as  active 
in  finding  excuses  for  others'  imaginary  offenses 
as  for  our  real  ones. 

.  981. 
Not  in  vain  are  only  men's  faces  exposed,  but 
not  their  hearts.  Only  he  is  fit  to  judge  men's 
motives  who  has  X-Ray  eyes,  able  to  look  thro' 
the  waistcoat.  But  none  are  apt  to  be  so  blind 
as  those  who  deem  themselves  to  have  X-Ray 
eyes   .    .    . 

The  good  things  about  folk  are  not  believed 
till  we  see  them  for  ourselves.     The  bad  things 
about  folk  are  readily  believed  long  before  we  see 
them  for  ourselves. 



At  twenty  one  feels  wiser  than  at  fifty,  but  at 
thirty  one  feels  only  wiser  than  at  forty   .    .    . 

It  is  a  wise  youth  that  keeps  accumulating 
for  future  use.     It   is   a  wise  man   that   keeps 
ridding  himself  of  the  accumulations  of  youth. 

The  child  learns  only  from  loveable  teachers; 
he  is  not  a  man  till  he  learns  also  from  hateful 


The  child  pets  the  lamb ;  the  man  eats  the  sheep . 

Parents  expect  children  to  be  grateful  for  what 
they  have  done  for  them.  Foolish  parents,  you 
have  been  getting  your  reward  while  doing  for 

Parents'  love  is  best  shown  by  timely  severity; 
their  wisdom  by  timely  gentleness. 

Certain  vices  in  the  young  may  be  only  virtues 
in  blossom.     Certain  virtues  in  the  aged  may  be 
only  vices  in  decay. 

THE    AGES  169 


In  youth  the  days  are  short  and  the  years  are 
long;  in  old  age  the  years  are  short  and  the  days 
are  long. 


Old  age  complains  that  youth  shows  no  respect 
for  age.  But  my  aged  friend,  have  you  taken 
pains  to  make  old  age  venerable  to  youth? 


With  men  we  can  afford  at  times  to  be  children. 
With  children  we  must  ever  be  men. 

With   the   child     the   first   motive   should    be 
fear;  with  the  youth,  duty;  with  the  man,  love. 

Who  wishes  not  to  break  the  heart  of  the  man 
must  not  fear  to  break  the  will  of  the  child. 

The  younger  grow  wise  chiefly  by  learning ;  the 
older,  by  unlearning. 

Good  men  stay  good  with  age ;  bad  men  do  not 
stay  bad,  they  grow  worse. 

To    retain    the    simplicity    of    the    child    with 
the   power   of   metamorphosis   in    old   age — this 
is  the  essence  of  the  higher  life. 

In  youth  one  has  tears  with  transient  grief;  in 
mature  life  one  has  abiding  griefs  without  the 



Laughter    may    preserve    to    old    age.     Tears 
alone  restore  to  perennial  youth. 

The  child  should  always  survive  in  the  man; 
the  boy  only  at  times. 

1 00 1. 
The  unknown  is  apt  to  rouse  fear  in  the  child, 
curiosity  in  the  youth,  indifference  in  the  man. 

To  be  a  good  child  he  needs  but  little  of  the  man 
in  him;  to  be  a  good  man  he  needs  much  of  the 
child  in  him. 

A  child  may  oft  be  left  to  play  alone;  children, 
hardly  ever. 

Age  needs  a  critic;  youth,  only  a  model. 

A  good  child  is  surely  to  its  parents'  credit;  a 
bad  child  is  not  so  surely  to  its  parents'  discredit. 

All  wish  for  long  life,  few  know  that  it  means  old 

A  man  is  more  a  child  of  his  age  than  of  his 

An  easy  art :  to  keep  young ;  a  most  difficult  art : 
to  grow  old. 


THE    AGES  171 


Any  life  worthy  of  the  name  is  spent:  in  youth, 
losing  its  illusions;  in  manhood,  sobering  from 
delusions ;  in  mature  age,  regretting  the  loss  of  both 
yet  desiring  the  return  of  neither. 

At  twenty  one  is  apt  to  be  infallible.     Happy  if 
at  thirty  one  is  only  about  to  become  so. 

Children    are    happiest    when    their    future    is 
made  present;  old  folk,  when  their  past  is  made 

Children  do  not  appreciate  enough  their  parents, 
and  the  parents  do  not  remember  enough  that 
this  is  because  they  are  children. 


Even  the  common  man  may  grow  old  in  a  night. 
It  is  the  uncommon  man  that  keeps  young  in  the 
midst  of  years. 

Imitation  is  surely  wisdom  for  the  young,  but 
only  for  the  young. 

In  youth  I  used  to  look  for  the  hidden  genius 
in  every  man.     I  now  have  to  look  for  the  hidden 
man  in  every  genius.  . 

In  youth  we  hope  to  avoid  errors;   in  mature 
age  we  are  content  if  we  have  succeeded  in  cor- 
recting them. 



That  there  is  an  ape  in  man  is  true,  but  only 
of  healthy  childhood  and  sickly  manhood. 

Openhandedness    the  child  learns  much  later. 
To  clinch  its  little  hand  it  knows  almost  at  birth. 

To  be  the  complete  man  the  boy  must  die  in 
him  wholly,  the  child  must  survive  in  him  much. 

To  love  a  story  is  the  mark  of  healthy  child- 
hood ;  to  love  fiction  is  the  mark  of  sickly  manhood. 

To  value  things  more  than  their  worth  is  the 
folly  of  childhood;  to  value  men  less  than  their 
worth  is  the  folly  of  womanhood. 

The  danger  of  youth  is  to  be  led  astray  by  the 
abundance  of  passion;  the  danger  of  age  is  to  be 
led  astray  by  its  scarcity. 

The  child  laughs  at  the  ludicrousness  of  the 
scarecrow;  the  youth  laughs  at  the  crow's  folly 
in  being  scared  thereby.  It  is  for  the  man  to  learn 
from  the  scarecrow  that  it  watches  for  others 
the  corn  it  cannot  itself  enjoy. 

The  child  must  have  right  living  before  right 
thinking;   the  man   cannot   have  right   thinking 
without  right  living. 

THE   AGES  173 


Flesh  and  blood  makes  the  child;  'tis  the  heart 
that  makes  the  parent. 


Older  folk  are  best  controlled  by  holding  out  to 
them  some  pleasure  and  much  fear;  the  young 
are  best  controlled  by  holding  out  to  them  much 
pleasure  and  some  fear. 

How  should  old  age  be  venerable  to  youth  when 
every  one  is  frantically  striving  not  to  grow  old? 

Stories  for  the  young,  maxims  for  the  old. 

The  language  of  a  people  is  the  history  of  its 
past ;  the  language  of  a  child  is  the  history  of  its 
present ;  the  language  of  a  man  is  the  history  of  his 

Two  great  mistakes:  to  think  oneself  young  at 
thirty;  to  think  oneself  old  at  fifty. 

103 1. 
It  is  always  wise  to  accommodate  ourselves  to 
our    surroundings.       It    is    not    always   wise   to 
accommodate  ourselves  to  our  age. 

And  so  you  have  concealed  your  age?  but  not 
your  folly. 

Men  born  the  same  day  are  hardly  ever  of  the 
same  aee. 



Every  age  walks  by  its  own  light:  youth,  by 
sunlight;  middle  age,  by  moonlight;  old  age,  by 


Ignorance  in  old  age  is  a  vice;  vice  in  youth  is 
mostly  ignorance. 


The  child  is  not  complete  without  a  certain 
manly  roughness;  the  man  is  not  complete  with- 
out a  certain  feminine  tenderness. 

The   child's   education   is  not  finished  till  it 
has  learned  to  obey;  the  man's,  not  till  he  has 
learned  to  command. 

Indulgence  to  children  is  seldom  more  than 
indulgence  to  ourselves. 


This  life  is  only  a  preparation  for  the  next, 
hence  education  does  not  end  with  any  age,  but 
is  meant  to  last  through  every  age.  Only  in 
childhood  and  youth  education  consists  in  learn- 
ing; in  middle  age  it  has,  alas!  to  consist  chiefly 
in  unlearning.  Blessed  he  who  in  his  old  age 
needs  no  longer  to  unlearn  yet  can  keep  on 
learning  .  .  . 


The  cyclopedia  that  is  never  outgrown,  the 
text  book  that  never  becomes  out  of  date,  that 
meets  the  requirements  of  every  department  of 
life,  of  every  age  in  life  is  after  all  the — Bible. 

THE    AGES  175 

The  pseudo-scientist  glories  in  the  discovery  that 
his  "  science"  contradicts  the  Bible.  The  true 
scientist  (who,  however,  is  not  yet  in  sight) ,  will 
find  that  only  that  is  science  which  is  found  sup- 
ported by  the  Bible.  And  it  is  the  utter  failure 
of  our  modern  education  to  appreciate  this  fact 
that  makes  our  race  a  miseducated  race:  fit  for 
everything  except  the  one  thing  it  is  designed  for : 
the  future,  eternal  life;  the  relentless  great  certain 
Beyond,  which  our  modern  education  makes  for 
its  but  too  well  u  educated  "  elders  even  at  best 
only  a  huge  Perhaps  .  .  . 



By  nature  men  are  sinners;  by  grace,  saints; 
by  inclination  they  are  both. 

A  sinner  one  is  born  and  this  without  his  con- 
sent.    A  saint  is  made;  and  this  only  with  his 


To  make  a  sinner  not  even  one  other  is  need- 
ful; to  make  a  saint  it  needs  at  least  three. 

Men  can  change  a  saint  into  a  sinner,  but  not  a 
sinner   into    a   saint.     The    chemist    can   reduce 
the  diamond  to  carbon.     He   cannot   make  the 
carbon  into  diamond. 

The  saint  abstains  from  sin  for  lack  of  desire; 
the  sinner  only  from  lack  of  occasion. 

Sinners   do  their    greatest    harm  when  alive; 
saints  can  do  their  greatest  good  also  when  dead. 

The  sinner  needs  to  learn  that  it  is  wrong  to 
live  only  for  the  day ;  the  saint  needs  to  learn  that 
it  is  wrong  to  live  other  than  in  the  day. 



The  sinner  is  not  safe  as  long  as  he  condemns 
not  himself;  the  saint  is  not  safe  as  long  as  he  con- 
demns others. 


The  message  to  the  sinner  is,  Come  down  lower; 
to  the  saint :  stay  below,  and  thou  shalt  be  taken 
higher   .    .    . 


The  sinner  needs  to  look  for  the  truth  of  the 
Bible  only  within  himself;  the  saint  can  afford 
to  look  also  without. 


The  sinner  needs  to  know  first  God's  holiness; 
the  saint  can  afford  to  look  first  at  God's  love. 


The  sinner  needs  to  learn  that  God  can  be  a 
merciful  judge;  the  saint,  that  He  can  also  be  a 
stern  Father. 


The  saint  has  no  reason  to  complain  of  God's 
ways,  the  sinner  has  no  right  to  complain. 


The  sinner  blunders  in  demanding  an  explana- 
tion of  God's  wTays;  the  saint,  in  endeavoring  to 
furnish  an  apology  for  God's  ways. 

God's  wisdom  even  the  sinner  can  see;  His  love, 
only  the  saint ;  but  His  justice  only  he  can  see  who 
has  been  both  sinner  and  saint. 



The  capacity  for  getting  highly  displeased  is  the 
only  thing  in  common  between  the  great-hearted 
saint  and  the  low-minded  sinner. 

The  images  of  saints  have  a  better  market  and  a 
higher  price  than  the  saints  themselves ;  and  saints 
in  marble  the  world  permits  to  be  more  potent 
than  saints  in  flesh. 

That  they  are  sinners  few  are  willing  to  deny; 
that  they  are  sinning,  few  are  ready  to  admit. 

When  a  man  confesses  that  he  is  a  great  sinner, 
he  is  already  a  smaller  one. 

Who  talks  much  of  sin  still  finds  time  to  commit 
it.     Who  talks  much  of  virtue  has  seldom  time  to 
practice  it. 

Sin  grows  fat  on  the  w^ant  of  three  things:  a 
loving  heart,  an  elastic  head,  a  pliable  will. 

Sins  like  a  spot  can  be  washed  out  in  blood; 
sin  like  a  stain,  can  be  burnt  out  only  in  fire. 

Sins  like  writing  in  pencil  can  be  rubbed  out; 
sin  like  writing  in  ink  can  only  be  scratched  out. 

Into   sin   man  is  born,   into  righteousness  he 
must  be  brought. 

SAINT    AND    SINNER  1 79 


The  bad  seldom  deserve  all  the  hatred  they 
get,  the  good  seldom  deserve  all  the  love  they  get. 

The  bad  man  makes  enemies,  the  good  man 
already  has  them. 


The  good  as  well  as  the  bad  take  comfort  from 
the  knowledge  that  others  have  suffered  as  they. 
But  the  good  are  encouraged  from  seeing  others 
conquer;  the  bad,  from  seeing  others  fail. 

The   honest   man  can  hardly  understand  the 
knave;  the  knave  cannot  at  all  understand  the 
honest  man. 


Good  men  are  seldom  loved  when  all  is  known 
about  them,  Bad  men  are  often  loved  even 
when  all  is  known  about  them. 

Many  remain  bad  without  growing  worse.     No 
one  remains  good  without  growing  better. 

A  bad  man  is  known  from  the  manner  in  which 
he  bestows  censure;  a  good  man  from  the  manner 
in  which  he  receives  it. 


To  be  a  bad  man,  he  need  only  work  out  what 
is  already  within  him.  To  be  a  good  man,  he 
must  work  out  what  is  put  into  him. 



Bad  men  are  often  worse  than  they  seem,  good 
men  are  seldom  as  good  as  they  seem. 

No  one  is  as  good  as  he  should  be;  hardly  any- 
one is  as  bad  as  he  can  be. 


It   is  not   so  difficult  to  do  the  right    as  to 
abstain  from  doing  the  wrong. 


To  do  right  one  needs  help  from  above.     To 
do  wrong  he  needs  none  from  below. 


Two  men  soon  find  the  world  too  small  for 
them:  the  saint  and  the  rogue. 

The  honest  man  errs  in  thinking  all  to  be  as 
good  as  he;  the  knave,  because  he  thinks  all  as 
bad  as  he. 


The  honest  man  is  deceived  most  about  others; 
the  rogue,  also  about  himself. 

There  are  two  kinds  of  sinners:  who  do  not 
the  right,  and  do  the  wrong, — these  are  the 
wicked  sinners;  who  do  the  right,  but  do  it  wrong 
— these  are  the  righteous  sinners;  and  it  is  their 
self -excuse  here  that  makes  them  also  wicked 
sinners   .    .    . 



Carlyle  somewhere  invites  folk  to  contemplate 
the  fact  that  there  is  actually  somewhere  the 
foolishest  man  on  earth.  But  this  rests  on  a  mis- 
conception of  folly,  which  is  distance  from  God. 
From  God  the  centre  to  the  fool  on  the  circumfer- 
ence of  the  furthest  circle,  every  radius  is  equi- 
distant, but  the  number  of  the  radii  is  endless. 

Men  are  wise  enough  as  long  as  they  seek  wis- 
dom, they  are  not  so  wise  when  they  think  they 
have  found  it. 

The  only  way  to  avoid  the  sight  of  fools  is  to 
remain  in  one's  chamber,  and  break  the  mirror. 

The  highest  wisdom  has  this  mark:     after  re- 
maining for  a  while  the  wisdom  of  the  few,  it  ere 
long  becomes  the  folly  of  the  many. 

The  wisdom  must  be  in  both:    him  that  com- 
mands and  him  that  obeys.    But  who  commands 
must  be  wise  for  both;    who  obeys  needs  to  be 
wise  only  for  himself. 


All  rascality  is  foolishness,  all  foolishness  al- 
ready verges  on  rascality. 



Hardly  a  man  but  he  has  much  wisdom  for 
others,  the  wise  man  has  the  most  thereof  for 


It  is  as  difficult  to  hide  our  wisdom  as  it  is  easy 
to  disclose  our  folly. 


Silence  may  sometimes  be  foolish  before  the 
wise,  it  is  always  wise  before  the  foolish. 


The  fool  is  a  rogue  incomplete,  the  rogue  is  a 
fool  complete. 

Yesterday's  folly  if  not  speedily  put  away,  be- 
comes   to-day's    precedent,    to-morrow's    vested 


The  apparent  foolishness  of  others  is  seldom 
more  than  our  own  want  of  either  head  or  heart  or 


It  requires  courage  to  be  always  your  best  self. 
It  requires  wisdom  not  to  be  it  at  times. 

Two  men  live  only  in  the  present:     the  very 
foolish,  the  very  wise. 


Two  men  are  wise :  Who  knows  how  to  live  his 
failures  into  successes;  who  sees  even  in  his  suc- 
cesses possible  failures. 

WISE    AND    FOOLISH  1 83 


There  are  no  consummate  wise  men,  there  are 
consummate  fools.  Most  men  are  combinations 
of  both  wisdom  and  folly,  with  folly  in  the  lead 
and  wisdom  bringing  up  the  rear. 


There  are  two  kinds  of  fools :  Who  do  not  what 
is  wise  because  they  know  it  not;  who  do  not 
what  is  wise  even  though  they  know  it.  The  one 
is  an  honest  fool  and  little  hope  there  is  of  him. 
The  other  is  a  dishonest  fool,  and  still  less  hope 
there  is  of  him. 


There  are  three  kinds  of  eyes :  Who  see  the  pin 
and  keep  away  before  it  pricks  them — these  are 
the  wise.  Who  see  the  pin  and  keep  away  after 
it  pricks  them — these  are  the  simple.  Who  see  the 
pin  and  keep  not  away  after  it  pricks  them — these 
are  the  fools. 

1099.  , 

We  learn  more  wisdom  by  renouncing  than  by 

1 100. 

The  wisdom  of  the  wise  is  often  greater  than 
they  think,  the  folly  of  the  foolish  is  seldom  less 
than  they  think. 

1 1  o  1 . 

To  be  purified  water  must  be  boiling;  to  be 
drunk  it  need  be  only  warm.  The  very  wise  man  is 
unendurable  to  men.  To  become  enjoyable  he 
must  be  wise  in  much,  foolish  in  not  a  little. 

The  wise  man  thinks  himself  even  if  he  makes 


not  others  think.     The  fool  makes  others  think 
even  if  he  think  not  himself. 


The  wise  and  the  fool  are  alike  in  at  least  this: 
each  fails  to  understand  the  other. 

1 104. 
The  wise  man  is  known  more  by  his  likes;   the 
fool  by  his  dislikes. 

A  great  misfortune:  never  to  have  been  unwise. 

Among  the  wise  it  is  dangerous  to  speak  what 
you  do  not  know.    Among  the  foolish  it  is  danger- 
ous to  speak  what  you  do  know. 

A  piece  of  wisdom:     To  make  sure  of  your 
getting  off  at  the  right  station  by  getting  ac- 
quainted also  with  the  last  station  but  one. 

Before  the  wise  half  our  wit  suffices,  before  the 
foolish  the  whole  is  not  enough. 

Both  wise  and  foolish  of  the  world  are  foolish 
in  the  long  run.    What  makes  the  fool  is  that  he 
is  foolish  also  in  the  short  run. 


Both  wise  and  foolish  make  mistakes.    But  the 

foolish  try  to  prove  their  mistakes  to  have  been 

the  best  that  could  have  been  done.     The  wise 

try  to  forthwith  make  the  best  of  their  mistakes. 

WISE    AND    FOOLISH  185 


Common  wisdom  rests  after  tiring.  Uncommon 
wisdom  rests  before  tiring. 

Even  the  wisest  are  seldom  wise  in  their  own 
affairs.     Most  wisdom  is  spent  chiefly  in  noting 
the  follies  of  others. 


From  the  School  of  Wisdom  no  one  ever  gradu- 
ates. The  most  attained  therein  is  that  its  ablest 
scholars  are  given  professorships  while  still  re- 
tained as  pupils. 


His  ignorance  the  fool  has  in  common  with  the 
wise.  What  marks  him  as  the  fool  is  that  he 
alone  insists  upon  imposing  it  upon  others. 

In   controversy   the   fool   has   this   advantage 
over  the  wise  man.     It  needs  but  few  words  to 
assert  folly,  it  needs  many  to  refute  it. 

It  is  easy  to  tell  what  a  wise  man  will  do,  the 
difficulty  is  in  telling  what  a  fool  will  do. 

It  is  safer  to  hide  our  wisdom  than  our  folly. 

It  is  safer  to  reveal  our  folly  before  the  wise 
than  our  wisdom  before  the  foolish. 

Men  are  distinguished  chiefly  by  their  punctua- 
tion marks:     the  wise  look  at  what  is  beyond 


them  and  make  liberal  use  of  commas;  the  fool 
looks  not  even  at  what  is  before  him,  and  makes 
liberal  use  of  periods. 

Men  are  divided  into  wise,  foolish  and  rogues: 
with  the  difficulty  of  drawing  the  line  between 
the  last  two. 


Men  attain  their  ends  as  often  through  others' 
blunders  as  through  their  own  wisdom. 

No  folly  but  can  be  made  plausible  by  partiality ; 
no  wisdom  but  can  be  made  to  appear  foolish  by 

Our  follies  even  a  fool  can  see;  our  wisdom,  not 
always  even  a  wise  man.    Fools  are  all  on  a  level; 
of  wise  men  there  are  degrees. 

Silence  is  necessary  for  the  wise  often,   it  is 
good  for  the  fool  always.     But  what  makes  the 
fool  is  that  he  cannot  be  silent  always. 

1 1.2  5 . 
The  choice  of  wise  counsellors  is  a  mark  of 
wisdom  in  those  who  as  yet  have  none.     The 
choice  of  foolish  counsellors  is  the  mark  of  folly 
in  those  who  already  have  some. 

The  discovery  that  a  thing  is  beyond  his  reach 
kills  the  desire  for  it  in  the  wise,  but  raises  it  all 
the  more  in  the  fool. 

WISE    AND    FOOLISH  187 

1 1 2  7 . 

The  folly  of  the  fool  is  a  wiser  teacher  than  the 
wisdom  of  the  wise:  even  fools  perceive  the  folly 
of  fools;  only  the  wise  perceive  the  wisdom  of 
the  wise. 


The  crowd  calls  two  persons  fools:     him  who 
has  very  little  wit,  and  him  who  has  very  much. 

The  folly  of  casting  pearls  before  swine  is  only 
equalled  by  that  of  trying  to  persuade  them  that 
the  mire  they  so  love  is  filthy. 

The   fool   dislikes   equally   the  wise   with   the 
foolish.      In  a  vacuum  the  gold  piece  and  the 
feather  fall  with  equal  swiftness. 
1 13 1. 
The  fool  is  easily  definable,  not  so  easily  the 
wise  man.     It  takes  many  things  to  make  a  wise 
man;   only  one  to  make  a  fool. 
The  wise  man  is  never  so  near  becoming  a  fool 
himself  as  when  trying  to  instruct  one. 

The  wise  may  bring  the  world  round  to  their 
wisdom  in  the  long  run,  the  fools  are  sure  to  bring 
the  world  round  to  its  folly  in  the  short  run. 


The  foolishest  personage — I  had  long  thought 
it  was  never  given  to  any  mortal  to  meet  just  that 
one.  Well,  I  have  met  her:  one  who  had  not 
heart  enough  to  be  generous,  yet  not  head  enough 
to  be  consistently  cruel. 




The  wise  word  should  never  be  thrown  away, 
the  kind  word  is  never  thrown  away. 

The  wise  man  learns  even  from  a  fool ;  the  fool 
not  even  from  a  wise  man. 

The  fool's  favorite  weapon  is  a  sword;  the  wise 
man's,  a  shield. 

The  fool  takes  his  umbrella  when  it  rains;   the 
wise  man  also  when  it  shines. 

The  gods  fight  in  vain  against  folly?     What 
makes  the  fool  is  that  he  obliges  God  to  cease 
fighting  against  him,  and  leave  him  to  his  folly. 

1 140. 
The  lack  of  two  things  makes  fools :    the  lack  of 
sense,  the  lack  of  sensibility. 

The  politic  man  gets  on  with  all.    What  makes 
the  wise  man  is  that  he  will  not  get  on  with  some. 


The  wise  act  in  the  present  with  reference  to 
the  future;  the  foolish  wish  for  the  future  with 
reference  to  the  present. 


The  simpleton  has  no  judgment  of  his  own :  he 
becomes  a  fool  when  he  refuses  to  borrow  it. 

WISE    AND    FOOLISH  189 


The  wise  man  has  his  thoughts  in  his  head;  the 
fool  has  no  thought  even  on  his  tongue. 

The  wise  also  begin  with  Nature,  fools  alone 
end  with  Nature. 

The  wise  man  changes  his  mind  sometimes: 
the  fool  either  always  or  never. 

The  wise  man  has  rarely  a  friend ;   the  fool  has 
hardly  one;    but  he  has  the  advantage  over  the 
wise  man  in  not  knowing  it. 
The  wise  man  walks  into  danger,  the  fool  runs. 

1 149. 
The   wise   see   even   without   their   eyes;    the 
foolish,  hardly  even  with  their  ears. 

The  world  would  be  full  of  sages  if  all  could  be 
as  wise  for  themselves  as  they  are  for  others. 

To  contradict  you  can  learn  even  from  fools. 
Only  from  the  wise  you  can  learn  to  affirm. 

Who  waits  with  his  wisdom  for  others  to  do 
wisely  will  remain  foolish  long  after  others  have 
ceased  to  be  foolish. 

Wisdom   consists    in   the   knowledge   of   great 
things,  but  only  when  coupled  with  due  apprecia- 
tion of  the  little  things. 



Your  attention  even  the  fool  can  compel;  your 
reflection,  only  the  wise  man;  but  your  action 
can  be  compelled  sooner  by  the  fool  than  by  the 
wise  man. 


The  wise  man  makes  us  first  weep  and  then 
laugh;  the  fool  makes  us  first  laugh,  and  then 


The  wise  man  must  be  like  the  sponge :  absorb 
without  pressure,  but  yield  only  after  pressure. 

Wise  men   borrow  their   experience,    common 
men  buy  it,  fools  pay  for  it  without  using  it. 

The  wise  hold  their  opinions,  fools  are  held  by 



The   wise   man   prints   his   opinions,    the   fool 

stereotypes  them. 

1 1 60. 

The  wise  man  sees  in  the  pillar  a  support  for  the 

house;   the  fool,  only  something  to  lean  against. 

The  rich  man  is  he  who  though  he  has  little 
thinks  he  has  much.     The  wise  man  is  he  who 
though  he  knows  much  thinks  he  knows  little. 

The  wise  host  entertains  so  that  on  leaving  the 
guest  feels  more  pleased  with  himself  than  with 
his  host. 



One  should  never  be  assumed  foolish  till  proved 
foolish — in  justice  to  him.  He  should  never  be 
assumed  wise  till  proved  wise — in  justice  to  us. 

Selfishness  makes  at  last  a  fool  of  one  who  with- 
out it  would  be  wise  indeed. 

All  things  move.     It  is  the  part  of  a  wise  man 
to  find  his  rest  while  moving  with  them. 


Foolish  nearly  all  are.  Only  the  wise  strive  to 
be  otherwise;  the  foolish  think  they  are  other- 


The  fool  also  has  abilities ;  the  wise  man  makes 
right  use  of  them. 

The  fool  wishes  for  all  he  sees,  believes  all  he 
hears,  tells  all  he  knows,  spends  all  he  has. 

Intelligence  is  shown  in  the  choice  of  means; 
wisdom,  in  the  choice  of  ends. 

Learning  in  the  fool  is  like  snow  on  ice:  much 
covers  it;  a  little  makes  it  only  more  slippery. 

Men  are  seldom  as  wise  as  they  look,  but  often 
as  foolish. 



The  fool  is  oratorical  in  his  conversation;  the 
wise  man  is  conversational  in  his  oratory. 


The  wise  man  can  understand  all  men  except 
a  fool. 

1 1 74. 

A  man  should  never  be  assumed  foolish  till  he 
has  proved  himself  foolish — this  we  owe  to  him. 
A  man  should  never  be  assumed  wise  till  he  has 
proved  himself  wise — this  we  owe  to  ourselves. 

A    word   will   show   our   folly;    to    show    our 
wisdom  it  needs  more  than  a  word  or — less. 

Even  a  wise  man  makes  a  mistake  once;  what 
marks  the  fool  is  that  he  makes  it  twice. 

Breadth  of  base  and  narrowness  of  top — the 
strength  of  the  pyramid,  the  weakness  of  the  fool. 

Even  the  fool  recognizes  necessity  as  a  master; 
the  wise  man  turns  her  also  into  a  servant. 

1  ±70. 

Even  the  fool  soon  learns  to  take  others  as 
they  are.  It  is  only  the  wise  man  that  learns  to 
take  himself  as  he  is. 



Two  great  fools :  who  always  goes  by  his  own 
watch;  who  corrects  his  watch  by  every  clock  he 


Even  the  fool  may  know  how  to  use  riches, 
only  the  wise  know  how  to  use  poverty. 

Fools  are  of  no  particular  age,  and  there  is  an 
abundance  of  them  in  all  ages. 

Two  men  live  only  in  the  present:   the  very 
foolish  and  the  very  wise. 

How  great  the  number  of  fools  in  the  world 
one  does  not  realize  until  he  meets  them. 

From  the  wise  man  we  scarcely  need  hide  even 
our  folly.     From  the  fool  we  must  hide  even  our 

When  a  man  confesses  that  he  is  a  great  fool, 
he  is  only  a  small  one. 

Wearisome  as  is  the  fool  without  brains,  the 
fool  with  brains  is  still  more  so. 


The  fool  ever  expects  more  than  what  is  there ; 
the  wise  man  ever  sees  more  than  what  appears 



What  makes  the  fool  is  that  he  is  fit  for  noth- 
ing. What  makes  the  common  man  is  that  he  is 
only  fit  for  something.  What  makes  the  wise 
man  is  that  he  is  not  fit  for  everything. 


The  fool  vexes  at  all  times,  like  the  coal :  touch 
it  hot,  it  burns  you;  touch  it  cold,  it  blackens 


Both  the  wise  man  and  the  fool  yield  to  neces- 
sity; but  the  wise  man  yields  first,  the  fool  last. 



Animals  are  never  cross-eyed,  it  is  men  that  are. 

There  may  of  course  be  some  cross-eyed  ani- 
mals.    If  so  they  have  the  good  sense  of  never 
letting  themselves  be  seen. 

Animals,  when  once  they  have  gained  our  affec- 
tion, never  lose  it — they  cannot  talk. 

Naturalists  tell  of  a  parrot  with  a  tongue  longer 
than  his  body — once  more  suggesting  the  possi- 
bility that  every  inferior  creature  is  type  of  some 
species  of  a  superior  sort  .  .  . 

Vanity  over  personal  appearance  is  displayed 
only  among  certain  birds — another  confirmation 
that  the  fowl  of  the  air  are  type  of  the  hosts  of  the 
Prince  of  the  powers  of  the  air. 

His  vanity  over  his  personal  appearance  man 
has  in  common  with  certain  sub-humans ;  and  it 
is  uncertain  whether  even  this  they  have  in  com- 
mon with  man. 



The  owl  is  therefore  the  bird  of  wisdom,  be- 
cause even  a  fool  can  see  when  it  is  light ;  it  is  the 
wise  man  that  can  see  when  it  is  dark. 

1 199. 

Animals  do  what  is  right  for  them  without  re- 
flection— instinctively.  Man's  highest  attain- 
ment is  to  have  wisdom  and  righteousness  become 
suchwise  that  "he  too  should  do  what  is  right  for 
him — instinctively . 


Animals  neither  laugh  nor  cry.  The  one  keeps 
them  from  being  Satanic,  the  other  prevents  them 
from  becoming  angelic.  Man  both  laughs  and 
cries — he  was  only  meant  to  smile  and  weep. 
Hence  though  he  cannot  yet  become  angelic,  he 
can  already  become  quite  Satanic. 

Animals  we  can  afford  to  imitate  in  several 
things,  but  chiefly  in  this:  their  character  is  the 
same  in  the  dark  as  in  the  light. 

All  other  animals  strive  to  make  life  agreeable 
to  themselves;  man  alone  invents  much  that  is 
injurious  to  himself. 

Do  sheep  ever  follow  a  stranger?    Yes,  but  only 
when  they  are  sickly. 

Even  the  lion  must  crouch  before  the  victori- 
ous spring. 



He  wags  his  tail  at  every  passer-by.      Poor 
beastie,  he  has  only  lost  his  teeth. 

The  woman  that  imprisons  the  bird  to  hear  its 
song  is  the  real  prisoner.    The  bird  shows  its  true 
freedom  by  singing  even  in  the  cage. 

The  worm  you  may  crush  today  might  feed  on 
you  tomorrow. 

The  goose  to  be  enjoyed  must  be  plucked. 

We  cannot  teach  beasts  to  speak,  we  can  learn 
silence  from  them. 

The  eagle  does  not  stoop  after  a  grub  and  would 
starve  where  the  barn-yard  fowl  thrives;  but  this 
because  he  is  an  eagle  and  not  a  barn-yard  fowl. 

12  II. 

The  penalty  of  walking  among  apes  is  an  occa- 
sional cocoa-nut  shot  at  your  head. 

The  dog,  though  whipped  many  times,  licks 
his  master's  hand  again  if  petted  but  once.  And 
shalt  thou  upbraid,  thy  God  who  hath  fed  thee 
twenty  times  where  he  hath  left  thee  to  sorrow 
but  once? 


"He  has  great  physical  courage,  great  domestic 
virtues!"     Glad  to  hear  it,  friend.     But  there  is 


not  a  single  virtue  of  this  sort  wherein  even  the 
best  of  folk  may  not  be  equalled  by  even  vicious 
or  dull  beasts.  "He  was  so  good  to  his  children!" 
Well,  so  is  the  cat,  the  hen,  the  buzzard,  the  tiger. 
But  if  you  wish  to  talk  of  his  human  virtues,  tell 
me  not  of  his  animal  virtues,  not  even,  if  you 
please,  of  "self-sacrifice"  for  others,  as  long  as 
every  dog  with  a  master  is  like  to  shame  therein 
many  a  human. 

I  heard  the  other  day  a  tragic-comic  tale  of  a 
faithful  member  of  dogdom,  which  is  character- 
istic as  well  as  instructive.  He  was  proudly  carry- 
ing home  his  master's  prospective  dinner  in  a 
basket  betwixt  his  teeth  when  he  was  set  upon  by 
other  dogs  with  socialistic  propensities.  He 
fought  bravely  for  some  time  in  protection  of  his 
master's  belongings.  But  when  he  saw  at  last 
one  piece  after  another  of  the  chunky  roast  car- 
ried off,  he  too  grabbed  at  what  was  still  within 
his  reach,  made  off  therewith  into  a  corner  by 
himself  and  there  dined  thereon  in  peace.  Poor 
beastie,  how  like  the  modem  business  man,  who 
accepts  all  manner  of  distasteful  crookedness  with 
the  plea,  "But  they  all  do  it!" 

On  seeing  Bucephalus  reined  in  by  Alexander 
the  crowd  thought:  "  What  a  fine  rider  to  tame 
such  a  horse  !  "  If  there  was  a  wise  man  nigh, 
he  surely  added :  "  What  a  fine  steed  that  is  tamed 
by  only  such  a  rider  !  " 



The  flesh  is  indeed  to  be  satisfied  first,  but  the 
spirit  should  be  provided  for  first. 

For  health  in  the  flesh  a  cool  head  must  be 
joined  to  warm  feet.     For  health  of  the  spirit  it 
must  be  joined  to  warm  hands. 

In  every  one  there  is  strife  betwixt  flesh  and 
spirit.     In  the  common  it  is  the  flesh  that  lusteth 
against  the  spirit ;  in  the  uncommon  it  is  the  spirit 
that  lusteth  against  the  flesh. 

Physical  heights  once  climbed  are  reascended 
easier  than  before.     Spiritual  heights  once  de- 
scended are  hardly  ever  reclimbed  as  easily  as 

Physical  strength  is  measured  by  what  one  can 
carry;  spiritual,  by  what  one  can  bear. 

Physical  enemies  are  best  fought  at  close  range ; 
spiritual,  at  long  range. 

When  the  body  is  exhausted  man  is  best  pros- 
trate on  his  back.    When  the  spirit  is  exhausted, 
man  is  best  prostrate  on  his  face. 



Where  the  presence  of  life  is  uncertain  hold  the 
mirror  over  the  face.  Life  in  the  flesh  then  an- 
nounces itself  by  moisture  on  the  glass.  Life  in 
the  spirit,  by  moisture  in  the  eye. 

Whether  the  body  be  on  its  knees  at  prayer  is 
a  matter  of  convenience.     That  the  spirit  be  on 
its  knees  even  when  not  in  prayer  is  a  matter  of 

To  remain  hungry  after  being  fed  is  the  sign  of 
a  sick  body.    To  be  satisfied  after  being  fed  is  the 
sign  of  a  sick  spirit. 

There  is  a  strength  of  body  that  comes  from 
strength  of  spirit,  and  this  is  genuine.    There  is  a 
strength  of  spirit  that  comes  from  strength  of  body, 
and  this  is  spurious. 

The  wounds  of  the  flesh  are  sooner  healed  by 
its  indulgence;  the  wounds  of  the  spirit,  by  its 
mortification.  m    . 

Overwork  starves  the  flesh,  underwork  the  spirit. 

With  the  deaf  in  the  flesh  it  may  be  well  to  be 
loud;  with  the  deaf  in  the  spirit  it  is  best  to  be 

Of  the  body  the  pulse  is  felt  in  the  wrist,  and 
the  temperature  is  taken  at  the  tongue.     Of  the 
soul  the  reverse  is  the  case. 

SPIRIT,    FLESH,    WORLD  201 


Water  will  not  mix  with  oil,  but  neither  can  it 
sink  it.  Water  is  the  symbol  of  the  world,  oil  of 
the  spirit. 


Temporal  blessings  make  us  joy  in  life;  spiritual 
blessing  makes  us  joy  also  in  death. 

Knowledge  of  the  world  is  mostly  knowledge 
of  the  evil  therein. 

The  ambition  of  all  worldlings  is  summed  up 
in  one  word :  to  have  a  large  tomb  in  exchange  for 
a  small  life. 

It  is  futile  to  try  to  conciliate  the  world  to  us. 
We  can  only  reconcile  ourselves  to  the  world. 

The  world  is  ever  ready  to  prescribe  the  cut  of 
your  coat,  but  leaves  you  to  pay  the  tailor's  bill. 

To  a  purse  the  world  is  willing  enough  to  help 
a  man.    It  is  the  filling  thereof  it  leaves  to  himself. 

The  world  cheerfully  offers  a  prop  to  him  that 
can   stand   alone. 

The  world  does  not  change,   it  is  only  your 
world  that  changes. 



I  know  an  affectionate  child  who  never  cuddles 
up  to  his  papa  without  mischievously  tickling  him 
— striking  illustration  of  the  world's  kindness  to 


The  world  consists  of  day-dreamers  and  night- 
dreamers.  And  the  day-dreamers  are  not  the  less 
harmful  of  the  two. 


The  world  is  ever  in  conspiracy  against  the  best, 
not  by  patronizing  the  bad,  but  the  good. 

The  world  is  governed  neither  by  right  nor  by 
wrong,  but  by  an  inextricable  mixture  of  the  two. 

The  world  pays  those  it  owes  most  in  debased 
coin,  but  it  is  the  best  it  has. 

In  the  world  even  the  best  dissipate  their  lives, 
it  is  only  a  question  of  the  kind  of  dissipation. 

You  who  are  making  such  a  fuss  because  you 
have  to  conform  to  the  world — it  is  to  your  pride 
that  you  conform,  not  to  the  world. 

The  world  loves  a  man  as  much  for  the  bad 
qualities  he  has  not  as  for  good  qualities  he  has. 

The  pleasures  of  the  world  are  like  the  leaves 
of  the  tree :  shelter  only  in  summer,  and  even  then 
only  in  fair  weather. 

SPIRIT,    FLESH,    WORLD  203 


None  are  so  weak  for  helping  the  truly  needy 
as  the  great  of  the  world. 

The   world   is    an    inclined    plane:    downward 
things  go  therein  of  themselves ;  to  be  kept  where 
they  should  be  they  must  be  held  up. 

The  worldly  wise  man  finds  fewer  sages  than 
he  expected;  the  spiritually  wise  man  is  apt  to 
find  more  fools  than  he  expected. 

The  only  way  to  conquer  the  world  is  to  for- 
sake it. 

The  world  has  use  only  for  those  who  let  them- 
selves be  used  by  the  world. 

Those  to  whom  the  world  appears  to  be  grow- 
ing worse  do  become  better  without  it,  those  to 
whom  the  world  appears  to  be  growing  better  do 
not  grow  better  with  it. 

To  be  successful  in  the  world  a  man's  life  must 
be  rather  wise  as  a  whole,  rather  foolish  in  detail. 

To  be  successful  in  the  world  one  needs  only  to 
float  with  the  current;  to  be  successful  in    the 
kingdom  one  must  intelligently  handle  the  oars. 




To  be  wise  in  the  world  we  need  only  suspect 
men  as  much  as  they  deserve.  To  be  wise  in  the 
kingdom  we  must  love  them  more  than  they 


To  know  the  kingdom  you  must  have  at  least 
begun  to  be  in  it.  To  know  the  world  you  must 
have  ceased  to  be  of  it. 

In  the  world  our  highest  ambition  is  to  make 
others  like  ourselves.     In  the  kingdom  to  make 
ourselves  like  the  One  Other. 
To  make  the  world  it  took  only  six  days,  to  give 
the  law  it  took  forty ;  this  perhaps  to  teach  us  the 
relative  value  of  both. 

To  succeed  in  the  kingdom  one  must  have  no 
vices.     To  succeed  in  the  world  he  needs  only  a 
few  virtues. 


To  succeed  in  the  world  you  must  know  how  to 
assert  yourself.  To  succeed  in  the  kingdom  you 
need  only  to  know  how  to  deny  yourself. 

To  succeed  in  the  world  you  need  a  past  to 
cling  to;  to  succeed  in  the  kindgom  you  need 
the  past  only  to  break  from. 

In  the  world  the  original  man  is  he  who  imi- 
tates none.     In  the  kingdom  only  he  is  original 
who  is  ever  a  copy  of  the  One. 

SPIRIT,    FLESH,    WORLD  205 


To  shine  in  the  world  it  is  enough  if  another's 
light  rests  upon  you.  To  shine  in  the  kingdom 
the  light  of  only  One  other  must  burn  through 


To  gain  this  world  much  trust  in  self  is  needed. 
To  gain  the  next  a  little  trust  in  God  is  enough. 

The  good  learn  early  that  there  are  wicked  folk 
in  the  world ;  the  bad  learn  late  that  there  are  good 
folk  in  the  world. 

The  world  tolerates  even  sins  if  they  are  only 
on  a  scale  large  enough. 

The  world  that  it  takes  all  kind  of  people  to 
make  is  a  bad  world.     To  make  a  good  world  it 
takes  only  one  kind. 

The  worldling  distrusts  men  at  first  because  he 
knows  them  not  as  yet.     Christian  distrusts  men 
because  he  knows  them  already  but  too  well. 


The  worldling  is  apt  to  err  in  deeming  himself 

coachman   charged  with   driving   and   sitting   in 

front.     Christian  is  apt  to  err  in  deeming  himself 

mere  passenger:  to  be  driven  and  sitting  behind. 

The  worldling  who  at  first  loves  men  ere  long 
learns  to  despise  them.     Christian  soon  learns  to 
despise  men,  and  then — loves  them. 



The  earth  turns  once  a  day :  to  teach  us  that  it 
is  not  for  man  to  set  the  world  aright. 

Rest  in  the  world  is  got  by  first  enduring  and 
then   striving.      Rest   in  the   kingdom,    by   first 
striving  and  then  enduring. 

For  walking  in  the  world  nothing  short  of  a  lan- 
tern will  do;  for  walking  in  the  kingdom  flashes 
of  lightning  must  suffice. 

In  the  kingdom  no  success  can  be  attained  with 
even  a  trace  of  delusion;  in  the  world  no  success 
can  be  had  without  at  least  some  delusion. 


What  if  the  world  know  thee  not  ?     Enough  if 
He  knoweth  thee  who  made  the  world. 

The  great  reliance  of  the  worldling  is  strength 
from  within;  of  Christian,  strength  from  without, 
from  above. 

There  is  only  one  way  to  avoid  the  desperate 
need  of  an  occasional  escape  into  the  higher  world 
— to  stay  therein  constantly. 

To  be  fit  for  earth  you  must  first  know  what 
you  can  do.     To  be  fit  for  heaven  you  need  first 
only  know  what  you  cannot  do. 

SPIRIT,    FLESH,    WORLD  207 


To  see  earth  we  must  open  our  eyes,  to  behold 
heaven  we  must  shut  them. 

To  know  how  to  use  every  one  is  the  height  of 
earthly  wisdom.     To  know  how  to  be  of  use  to 
every  one  is  the  height  of  heavenly  wisdom. 

True  success  is  attained  in  the  world  by  at  all 
times  holding  on;  in  the  kingdom,  by  first  letting 



To  remain  hungry  on  being  fed  is  the  sign  of  a 
sick  body;  to  be  satisfied  after  being  fed  is  the 
sign  of  a  sick  spirit. 


In  the  world  men  are  strong  in  proportion  to 
their  feeling  themselves  strong.  In  the  kingdom, 
in  proportion  to  their  feeling  themselves  weak. 

In  the  world  the  great  desideratum  is  to  know 
how  to  distinguish  yourself;  in  the  kingdom,  how 
to  extinguish  yourself. 

For  success  in  the  world  a  man's  wisdom  must 
first  be  hid;  for  success  in  the  kingdom  his  folly 
must  first  be  manifest. 

The  fish   in   the  net  darts  aimlessly  up  and 
down,  the  bird  sings  even  in  the  cage.     The  fish 
lives  in  the  water,  type  of  the  world;  the  bird 
lives  in  the  air,  type  of  the  spirit. 



In  the  world  success  is  measured  by  the  amount 
of  good-will  obtained  from  men;  in  the  kingdom 
by  the  amount  deserved. 

In   the  world  men  are   dissatisfied  first  with 
what  they  are  not,  and  then  with  what  they  are ; 
in  the  kingdom  men  must  be  dissatisfied  first  with 
what  they  do,  and  then  with  what  they  don't. 

The  growth  of  the  flesh  is  only  increase;  the 
growth  of  the  spirit  must  be  also  transformation. 

To  outgrow  one's  clothes  is  a  sign  indeed  of 
healthy  physical  growth,  but  of  unhealthy  spiritual 


In  the  world  the  great  desideratum  is  to  know 
how  to  distinguish  yourself;  in  the  Kingdom, 
how  to  extinguish  yourself. 

Discontent  is  a  mark  either  of  your  not  yet 
having  found  your  place  in  the  world,  or  of  your 
having  already  lost  it  in  the  Kingdom. 

In  the  world  success  is  measured  by  the  ability 
to  go  up;  in  the  Kingdom,  by  the  ability  to  come 


There  are  in  the  world  no  good  folk;  there  are 
only  the  bad  and  the  not  so  bad.  There  are  in  the 
Kingdom  no  bad  folk;  there  are  only  the  good 
and  not  so  good. 



The  envy  happiness  causes  is  always  real,  the 
happiness  itself  is  not  so  real. 

Singers  are  best  enjoyed  when  not  looked  at; 
happiness  is  best  possessed  when  not   contem- 

'  'Happy  am  I,  for  I  do  what  I  like!"     And  so 
does  the — beast   .    .    . 

To  deserve  happiness  we  must  keep  our  eyes 
open;  to  have  it,  we  must  keep  them  shut 


Only  fo.ols  and  philosophers  go  through  life 
happy;  and  the  philosopher,  to  keep  happy, 
must  at  last  also  become  a  fool. 


To  happiness  the  shortest  road  is  generally  the 

Much    happiness    comes    to    men    from    what 
they  know;  more  from  what  they  are  kept  from 

The  surest  way  to  leave  happiness  behind  is  to 
run  after  it. 



Happiness  itself  is  indeed  of  some  importance, 
but  the  important  matter  is  to — deserve  happi- 


Your  concern  is  only  that  you  deserve  happiness. 
That  you  have  it,  is  God's.  All  misery  of  spirit 
is  due  chiefly  to  the  transposition  of  these  two 


The  joy  of  happiness  is  like  the  rubber  on  the 
pencil:  which  never  lasts  as  long  as  the  pencil 


And  so  you  are  not  happy?  Well,  you  will 
stay  so  as  long  as  you  remind  yourself  thereof. 

Men  are  happiest  when  least  aware  of  happiness. 

Folk  are  seldom  as  happy  as  when  they  bore. 

Men  are  made  as  unhappy  by  the  ills  they  fear 
as  by  those  they  suffer. 

Only  he  can  serve  men  who  is  happy,  only 
he  can  love  men  who  has  been  unhappy ;  only  he 
can  know  men,  who  has  been  both. 

Who  has  got  so  far  as  never  to  be  unhappy,  can 
he  really  be  happy? 


To  be  happy  one  needs  very  much  mind  or  very 
little,  with  the  chances  much  in  favor  of  the  very 


To  be  happy  one  needs  to  know  but  little,  to 
be  good  one  must  know  much;  to  be  useful,  one 
must  know  neither  much  nor  little. 


To  make  us  happy  one  must  surely  be  good; 
to  make  us  miserable  he  need  not  be  bad. 


Who  has  happiness  without  the  peace  is  farthest 
from  Christ.  Who  has  the  peace  without  the 
happiness  is  nearest  to  Christ.  Who  has  neither 
the  happiness  nor  the  peace  is  meant  to  be  on  the 
way  to  Christ. 


The  only  way  to  be  less  unhappy  is  to  become 
more  so. 


In  its  ultimate  analysis  unhappiness  always 
comes  from  laying  claim  to  what  one  has  no  title. 

There  are  two  kinds  of  happiness :  the  possession 
of  the  beautiful  and  the  admiration  of  the  noble : 
and  this  second  is  also  a  possession  of  the  beautiful. 

We  cannot  make  ourselves  happy,  we  can  make 
ourselves  perfect.    We  cannot  make  others  perfect, 
we  can  make  them  happy. 



Whether  you  shall  be  unfortunate  depends  also 
on  others.  Whether  you  shall  be  unhappy  de- 
pends mostly  on  yourself. 

Happiness  easily  purchased  is  like  installment 
goods:  found  rather  high-priced  in  the  end. 

The  senses  are  only  tyrannous,  logic  is  merciless. 
Now  we  often  need  emancipation  from  the  senses, 
we  rarely  need  succor  against  the  mercilessness  of 

Perfect   happiness!     But   what   makes   it   im- 
perfect is  that  it  cannot  last. 

The  only  successful  search  for  happiness  is  that 
which  begins  with  looking  for  it  just  where  you  are. 


The  noblest  happiness  is  being  happy  in  that 
of  another.  Unfortunately  this  we  cannot  have 
until  happy  ourselves. 


Life  to  be  made  happy  must  be  made  so  by  God, 
since  human  nature  has  made  it  a  tragedy  long  ago. 

It  is  a  low  happiness  that  comes  from  doing  only 
what  you  would;  a  higher  comes  from  doing  what 
you  should;  the  highest  from  doing  what  you 



The  one  thing  happiness  will  not  stand  is — 
close  scrutiny. 

The  only  truly  happy  folk  are  found  in  the 

Two   things  make  for  the   happy  life:   inde- 
pendence from  those  by  whom  we  are  not  loved, 
independence  with  those  by  whom  we  are  loved. 


There  are  two  kinds  of  happiness :  one  given  by 
surroundings,  occupation,  friends — this  men  often 
have,  but  seldom  profess ;  the  other  derived  from 
elevation  of  thought — this  men  often  profess, 
but  seldom  have. 


"Man  has  his  source  of  happiness  within  him." 
Unfortunately  the  happiness  that  is  only  from 
within  is  merely  a  feigned  escape  from  misery. 

It  took  men  long  to  learn  that  happiness  is 
found  not  without  but  within;  it  will  take  them 
longer  to  learn  that  neither  can  it  be  found  within, 
but  above. 

It  is  not  a  great  mistake  never  to  commit  one. 
It  is  a  great  misfortune  never  to  be  unhappy. 

To  make  one  happy  many  things  are  needful, 
to  make  him  miserable  one  thing  is  enough. 



To  destroy  one's  estate  it  needs  a  conflagration, 
to  rob  him  of  his  peace  a  mosquito  is  enough. 

There  is  only  one  sure  way  to  be  happy,  and 
that  is  not  to  be  thinking  of  happiness  .... 


The  mountains  are  therefore  type  of  the 
Promised  Land,  because  from  the  distance  they 
charm  with  the  view  of  themselves;  from  their 
own  summit  they  delight  with  the  view  off  them- 


We  must  learn  to  detach  ourselves  from  all 
that  can  be  lost  that  we  may  become  attached 
to  the  only  one  that  is  ever  ready  to  be  found. 

Life  is  too  short  for  regrets,  and  for  mourning 
it  is  only  long  enough  when  its  tears  fertilize  the 

Every  earthly  hope  is  an  egg,  but  the  serpent 
hatches  thence  as  often  as  the  dove  .... 


Only  hard  diamond  cuts  hard  diamond;  but 
the  hardest  heart  can  be  cut  only  by  the  tenderest. 

The  head  can  never  form  a  good  heart,  but 
it  can  rule  an  evil  one. 

The   head   should    always    be    kept    old;    the 
heart,  never. 

The  mouth  should  seldom  be  open;  the  ears 
often;  the  heart  always. 

There  is  no  question  as  to  the  uncovering  of  the 
head  indoors;  the  question  is  as  to  the  uncovering 
of  the  heart  out-of-doors. 

By  all  means   keep  your  head  covered  in  cold 
weather,  but  keep  your  heart  uncovered  in  all 

The  mind  may  be  changed  as  oft  as  needful; 
the  heart  must  be  changed  only  once. 

The  passions  can  seldom  be  trusted;  the  head 
oft,  the  heart  nearly  always. 



The  key  to  the  heart  of  others  is  carried  within 
our  own. 

The  head  needs  for  its  growth  new  things,  the 
heart,  only  old  truths. 

All  noble  joy  is  due  to  the  heart;  every  ignoble 
pain,  to  the  head. 

We  all  need  smooth  heads.     It  is  in  our  hearts 
we  can  afford  a  few  folds. 

Where  explanations  do  not  explain  it  is  because 
they  are  addressed  from  head  to  head,  whereas 
they  should  be  addressed  first  from  the  heart  to  the 
head,  and  then  from  the  head  to  the  heart. 

Where  prosperity  turns  the  head  it  shrivels  also 
the  heart.     Where  adversity  enlarges  the  heart  it 
in  nowise  shrivels  the  head. 

Head  and  heart  move  on  parallel  lines  only  with 
fools  or  rogues.     With  the  wise  and  honest  they 
soon  enough  converge. 

An  obstinate  head  is  surely  a  defect;  an  obsti- 
nate heart,  not  so  surely. 

A  noble  heart  will  be  resigned  to  all  troubles, 
even  to  that  of  being  a  trouble. 

HEART    AND    HEAD  217 


A  great  mind  may  be  content  with  one  great 
thought  in  a  day.     A  great  heart  is  content  only 
with  one  great  love  throughout  the  day. 

An  uncommon  head  is  nearly  always  an  enjoy- 
ment ;  an  uncommon  heart ,  only  rarely. 

A  pure  heart  surely  makes  for  transparency,  a 
clear  head  not  so  surely. 

Be  sure  to  put  the  heart  in  the  right  place,  that 
of  the  head  will  come  of  itself. 

Hardly  a  man  but  is  at  times  cruel.     But  half 
of  mankind  is  cruel  from  lack  of  heart ;  the  other 
half,  from  lack  of  head. 

Contempt  which  may  spring  from  a  clear  head  is 
compatible  with  a  pure  heart.     But  hatred  which 
springs  only  from  a  foul  heart  is    incompatible 
with  a  clear  head. 

Corruption  of  the  heart — confusion  of  the  head. 

I  have  seen  a  well-written  letter  by  one  who  had 
neither  hands  nor  feet.     I  am  yet  to  see  a  good 
deed  done  by  one  who  has  neither  head  nor  heart. 
What  the  President  is  to  nominations  and  the 
Senate  to  their  confirmations,  the  heart  and  the 
head  should  be  to  our  intentions. 



When  her  favorite  cup  was  broken  her  heart  too 
was  broken.  Well,  she  had  just  heart  enough  to 
be  held  by  the  cup. 


A  black  heart  is  after  all  a  misfortune  as  well 
as  a  fault,  and  needs  our  pity  as  well  as  condemna- 
tion: only  condemnation  first,  pity  afterwards. 

Who  addresses  the  head  may  write  in  black. 
To  reach  the  heart  he  must  write  also  in  red. 

The  great  fact  for  the  heart  is  sorrow ;  the  great 
problem  for  the  head  is  submission. 

To  gain  entrance  into  the  hearts  of  others  we 
need  only  the  opening  of  theirs ;  to  abide  in  the 
hearts  of  others  we  need  also  the  opening  of  ours. 

The  journey  from  head  to  heart  may  be  long; 
the  journey  from  heart  to  hand  must  be  short. 

Ready   habitual   assent   in    conversation   is  a 
mark  of  either  a  weak  head  or  a  corrupt  heart. 
Ready  habitual  contradiction  is  a  mark  of  both. 

All  greatness  must  begin  with  an  uncommon 
head;  it  can  continue  only  with  an  uncommon 



1378.  _ 
Much  of  Christian's  tribulation  is  due  to 
misapprehension  of  the  nature  of  his  journey. 
He  deems  himself  passenger  in  the  coach,  to  be 
carried  to  his  destination.  He  is  meant  to  be 
conductor :  getting  on  and  off  at  every  station. 

Like  the  candle  Christian  also  must  be  con- 
sumed in  giving  out  his  light ;  but  unlike  the  can- 
dle he  must  keep  on  shining  after  he  is  consumed. 

Like  the  Master's,  Christian's  visage  will  also 
be  marred,  and  the  world  will  see  no  beauty  in  him 
that  is  to  be  desired.  Christian  is  in  his  service 
to  the  world  like  the  chimney  which  is  lined  all 
over  with  black,  but  long  after  the  house  is 
burned  it  alone  stands. 


When  a  man  begins  to  fear  for  himself  he  is 
ready  for  Christ ;  when  he  ceases  to  fear  for  himself, 
Christ  is  ready  for  him. 


The  magnetic  needle  vibrates  only  as  long 
as  two  opposing  forces  affect  it;  it  rests  soon 
enough  when  one  is  withdrawn.  But  its  very 
vibration  is  due  to  its  faithfulness  to  the  north 
star.  The  needle  is  only  type  of  the  vibrations 
of  Christian. 




Two  things  are  required  of  a  well:  it  must  not 
freeze  in  winter,  it  must  not  run  dry  in  summer. 
Two  things  are  required  of  piety:  it  must  not 
be  chilled  by  adversity,  it  must  not  wither  with 


Christianity  was  mature  in  its  childhood; 
Christendom  is  childish  in  its  maturity. 

It  is  the  sun  that  raises  the  fog  which  obscures 
it.     It   is   the  munificence   of   Christians   which 
sustains  agnostic  professors. 

Humanitarianism  is  like  the  car  detached  from 
the  engine:  may  shelter,  but  cannot  move  you. 
Christianity  is  the  car  with  the  engine  on. 


Christianity  has  suffered  little  from  those  who 

bear  not   the   name   of   Christ,    it   has   suffered 

much  from  those  who  do.     The  sun  is  obscured 

not  by  other  stars,  but  by  the  fog  it  raises  itself. 

Folk  tell  me  my  religion,  the  Christian  religion 
is  narrow.  But  they  see  only  the  fence  round  my 
garden,  while  I  am  after  the  flowers  raised  therein. 

To  bear  the  Master's  image,  Christian  also  like 
the  wax,  must  first  be  melted. 

The  secret  of  Christian's  life  is  to  walk  upon  a 
narrow  path  with  a  wide  heart. 



The  true  Christian  is  like  the  figure  6.     Turning 
it  upside  down,  only  increases  its  value. 

The    puddle    does    not    contain    the    heavens, 
but  it  can  reflect  them.     What  if  I  have  not 
the    Master's    power?     I    can    still    reflect    the 
Master's  image. 

The  pagan    is    sincere  enough  if  he  believes 
what  he  maintains;  the  Christian  is  not  sincere 
enough  till  he  also  maintains  what  he  believes. 

A  Christian  has  been  defined  as  a  fulfilled  man. 
If  filled  with  the  Spirit,  yes;  otherwise  Christian 
is  first  of  all  an  emptied  man. 

Since  the  blood  of  Christ  has  been  shed  for 
us  we  need  not  always  condemn  ourselves;  but 
since  the  blood  of  Christ  yet  pleads  for  us  we 
must  ever  still  suspect  ourselves. 

Christian  has  God  for  his  silent  partner,  who 
furnishes  the  capital,  but  leaves  it  to  man  to 
carry  on  the  business.  Man  was  meant  to  double, 
fivefold,  tenfold  his  endowment,  but  only  by  the 
mercy  of  God  does  he  barely  escape  bankruptcy. 

The  non-Christian  must  either  conquer  circum- 
stances   or   be    conquered    by    them.     Christian 
must  live  in  circumstance. 



Wise  prayer  asks  that  in  the  supplicant's  case 
two  and  two  ever  remain  four.  Foolish  prayer 
asks  that  they  become  at  least  five. 

Man's  daily  task  is  to  diminish  what  he  has  in 
common  with  the  beast,  to  increase  what  he  has 
in  common  with  God. 


Keep  on  rising — you  will  at  last  find  yourself 
alone,  but  with  God.  Keep  on  sinking — you 
will  at  last  find  yourself  not  alone,  but  with 

1 40 1. 

The  Bible,  like  the  star,  was  not  meant  to  dis- 
pel the  darkness,  but  it  was  meant  to  guide  the 


To  believe  all  the  Bible  tells  needs  only  a 
little  faith,  to  do  all  the  Bible  bids  needs  much 


The  Bible  is  the  only  book  that  furnishes  not 
only  a  photographic  gallery  for  every  one  of  the 
race,  but  also  a  list  of  the  stations  on  whatever 
road  one  may  be  travelling.  The  gallery  is 
indeed  a  rogue's  gallery,  but  the  way  it  leads  on  is 
from  Satan's  prison  unto  God's  throne. 

Waters    in    Scripture    symbolise    the    powers 
of  the  world,  because  they  run  down  hill;  never 


up.  Water  in  scripture  also  symbolises  the  word 
of  God :  because  it  descends  earthward  in  visible 
showers,  and  ascends  heavenward  in  invisible 


The  most  helpful  commentary  on  the  Bible  is 


Literature,  is  my  gymnasium — I  only  go  there  to 
stir  up  my  blood.  The  Bible  is  my  pantry — I  go 
there  for  something  to  eat. 

Washed  you  may  be  in  water,   cleansed  you 
must  be  in  blood. 

Many  a  preacher  is  to  the  kingdom  what  the 
bell  is  to  the  Church:  calls  others  to  come,  but 
enters  not  itself. 

For  a  long  time  I  could  not  believe  that  preachers 
of  the  Gospel  could  themselves  be  unbelievers 
until  I  observed  that  the  spoon  can  convey  the 
soup  it  cannot  taste. 


The  Gospel,  long  after  it  has  lost  its  power 

in  the  heart  of  man  still  lingers  in  his  life:  like 

the     accompaniment     which     continues     to     be 

played  some  time  after  the  song  itself  is  ended. 

Higher  criticism  is  a  torrent :  which  rising  in  the 
mountain  may  be  harmless  to  the  mountain,  but  it 
is  sure  to  bring  devastation  to  the  valley. 



True  religion  should  enable  us  not  so  much  to 
overpower  our  enemies  as  to  win  them;  like  the 
wings  of  the  ostrich:  which  enable  it  to  overtake 
what  it  pursues,  but  not  to  fly  over  it. 

That  is  true  science  which  teaches  that  we  do 
not  know;  that  is  true  religion  which  teaches  us 
that  we  do  know. 

Two   great   enemies   of   pure   religion:   forms, 

Education  does  not  even  mend  nature,  religion 
changes  it. 

To  die  for  their  religion  many  are  ready ;  to  live 
for  it,  few.     It  is  easier  to  die  bravely  than  to 
live  bravely. 

Men  are  religious  naturally,  they  are  Christian 

Religion    offers    no    immunity    from    storms, 
it  does  offer  an  anchor  in  the  storm. 

Morality  is  a  vestibule  to  religion,  but  with  the 
door  bolted  inside. 

Mere  morality  is  a  pyramid :  broad  where  earth 
is    touched,    a    mere    point    heavenward.     True 
religion  is  the  reverse:  touches  earth  at  a  mere 
point,  but  its  vast  base  is  grounded  in  heaven. 



It  may  cost  much  to  be  religious  now.  It  will 
cost  more  later  not  to  be. 

Many   things    give    zest    and   flavor   to   food, 
religion  alone  gives  zest  and  flavor  to  life. 

Religion  alone  truly  separates  from  the  world, 
religion  alone  truly  unites  to  the  world. 

When  born  religion  rushes  through  the  head  to 
get  to  the  heart.     When  it  dies  religion  lingers 
in  the  head  long  after  it  has  left  the  heart. 

Religious  incredulity  is  only  misdirected  cre- 

When  Theological  bric-a-brac  becomes  useless, 
and  is  to  be  removed,  science  engages  the  bull, 
literature  the  monkey ;  religion  calls  in  the  house- 


Religion  must  begin  with  binding  us  to  the 
power  of  God,  but  it  must  not  end  till  it  binds 
vis  to  the  frailty  of  man. 

True  religion  is  to  be  filial  toward  God,  fraternal 
toward  man. 


Men  truly  pray  only  for  what  they  persistently 
work  for. 



No  prayer  reaches  the  height  without  a  groan, 
no  groan  reaches  its  depth  without  a  prayer. 


In  the  street  you  may  learn  his  manners;  at 
home,  his  breeding;  at  church  you  may  learn  his 
creed;  in  the  shop,  his  religion. 


None  are  in  such  need  of  change  by  religion  as 
those  eager  to  change  the  Christian  religion. 

To  be  fit  for  earth  you  must  have  once  been  in 
the  heavenlies. 

For  heaven's  opportunities  men  are  too  slow; 
for  heaven's  rewards  men  are  too  fast. 

Where  heaven  is  you  need  not  know  till  later. 
Where  your  heaven  is  you  must  know  at  once. 

What   are   we   to   do   with   an   eternal   life   if 
we  know  not  how  to  use  best  our  brief  life  here? 

To  be  on  the  way  to  heaven  is  already  to  be 
partly  in  heaven. 

The  way  to  the  heavenly  sublime  is  through  the 
earthly  ridiculous. 

Heaven  for  those  who  merely  think  thereon? 
It  is  not  yet  even  for  those  who  merely  sigh  there- 
for.    Heaven  is  for  those  who  first  die  for  it  and 
then  live  for  it. 



Two  things  hide  the  stars : :  the  light  of  the  day, 
the  clouds  of  the  night.  Two  men  forget  God: 
the  prosperous  Christian,  the  failed  worldling. 

It  is  the  mark  of  true  holiness  that  it  at  once  at- 
tracts and  repels. 

Earthly   prizes   men   mostly   lose   because   of 
the  worthiness  of  others ;  heavenly  prizes  men  lose 
always  only  because  of  the  unworthiness  of  them- 

Covetousness  of  the  earthly  is  a  vice;  of  the 
heavenly,  a  virtue. 

To  be  truly  holy  a  man  must  have  known 
sin    as    deep    as    holiness    is    high.     The    height 
of  the  tree  is  in  proportion  to  its  depth. 

The  theologian  is  apt  to  be  made  by  his  temper- 
ament, the  man  of  God  becomes  one  in  spite  of 
his  temperament. 

When  you  can  greet  a  stranger  with  an  inward 
God  bless  you !  the  blesser  is  not  far  off. 

For  witnessing  two  are  needful,  three  are 
enough.  "At  the  mouth  of  two  or  three  witnesses 
shall  every  word  be  established."  But  as  only 
that  is  truly  enough  which  is  a  little  more  than 
enough,  a  fourth  is  added.  Hence  four  Gospels 
where  one  was  not  sufficient,  two  are  needful,  and 
three  were  enough. 



Men  are  seldom  as  good  as  their  religion,  always 
as  bad  as  their  irreligion. 

Their  religion  men  are  apt  to  use  as  they  use 
their  life  preservers:  only  during  the  storm. 

To  shed  judiciously  one's  blood  for  men  after 
Christ  has  done  it  is  now  quite  easy.     To  shed 
one's   ink   judiciously   for   men   after   the   Bible 
has  been  written  is  now  quite  hard. 

True  religion  like  the  rope  of  the  Royal  Navy 
is  distinguished  by  the  scarlet  thread  which  runs 
through  its  every  part. 

Christian,  like  the  miser,  always  lives  poor  that 
he  may  die  rich;  but  unlike  the  miser,  Christian 
takes  his  riches  with  him. 

Christian  is  like  Cyprian  wine:  purest  indeed 
when  white;  but  becomes  such  only  after  being 

Men  clamor  for  religious  liberty;   they  mean 
irreligious  liberty. 

The  town  in  which  the  writer  lives  bears  the 
name    of    Grafton;     some    five    miles    southeast 
therefrom  is  the  town  of  Upton,  and  a  railroad 
called  the  Grafton  and  Upton  connects  them. 


One  day  the  superintendent  of  the  railway  had 
occasion  to  write  to  the  inspector  of  steam  roads. 
In  reply  he  received  a  letter  giving  the  needed 
information,  but  signed  " Grafton  Upton."  The 
Grafton  and  Upton  railway,  being  some  twelve 
miles  long,  is  the  smallest  in  the  State  of  Massa- 
chusetts, and  its  officials  are  frequently  joked 
about  the  size  of  the  road.  The  superintendent, 
on  receiving  the  communication  signed  Grafton 
and  Upton,  at  once  sat  down  and  warmly  remon- 
strated with  the  inspector  for  so  far  forgetting 
his  dignity  as  to  sign  an  official  communication 
with  ' '  Grafton  Upton . ' ' 

A  reply  came,  stating  that  neither  joke  nor 
discourtesy  was  intended;  that  the  inspector  had 
simply  the  good  or  bad  fortune  of  having  for  his 
name  actually  Grafton  Upton. 

The  mistake  of  the  superintendent  was  natural ; 
the  chance  that  a  man's  name  would  have  the 
same  combination  as  that  of  the  very  road  he  was 
officially  to  inspect,  seems,  a  priori,  infinitesimal. 
Yet  that  chance  did  occur;  a  striking  lesson  of 
the  foolishness  of  judging  on  any  evidence  short  of 
actual  knowledge. 

To  overestimate  one's  merits  is  conceit;  but  to 
underrate  them  is  not  yet  modesty,  it  is  only  igno- 
rance. Modesty  is  only  that  which  appraises 
one's  own  merit  at  its  true  worth.  Newton  did 
not  disparage  that  genius  of  his  which  discovered 
gravitation,  but  he  did  describe  his  work  as  merely 
gathering  pebbles  on  the  shore  of  the  ocean  of 



It  is  a  mark  of  the  heavenly  origin  of  the  re- 
ligion of  Christ,  that  its  God  permits  Himself  to 
be  painted  therein,  as  Cromwell  wished  his  por- 
trait to  be  painted — with  the  wart  on.  That 
which  so  repels  mere  man,  the  Cross,  the  Blood. 
which,  in  order  to  win  men,  a  man-made  God 
would  fain  leave  out,  is  made  the  chief  est  of  its 


The  chief  value  of  great  men  is  in  reminding  us 
that  by  no  manner  of  means  can  we  become  like 
them.  That,  if  we  are  to  be  great  ourselves,  it 
must  be  not  in  their  way,  but  in  ours.  The  great 
man  whose  like  I  can  become  is  not  yet  the  great 

If  you  are  a  modern  St.  Bernard,  then,  my 
friend,  I  had  better  learn  what  you  are  about  to 
teach  me,  not  from  you,  but  from  St.  Bernard. 

If  your  book  is,  as  the  critics  tell  me,  a  modern 
chapter  from  ''The  Imitation  of  Christ,"  then  I 
can  safely  leave  your  book  with  the  critic's  opinion 
about  it,  and  betake  myself  to  "The  Imitation  of 
Christ"  instead. 

In  so  far  as  you  remind  me  of  anyone  else,  how- 
ever strong,  however  skilful,  in  so  far  you  are 
weak.  Your  strength  must  lie  only  in  the  fact 
that  none  other  is  like  you.  "Never  man  spake 
thus,"  was  the  true  literary  criticism  of  the  dis- 
courses of  Christ.  They  did  not  remind  His 
hearers  of  Rabbi  Hillel,  or  Gamaliel.  "Since  the 
world  began  it  was  never  heard  that  anyone 
opened  the  eyes  of  a  man  born  blind,"  was  sounder 
criticism  than  "A  new  Elijah  has  arisen." 

There  is  only  One  into  whose  image  we  are  to  be 



fashioned.  And  we  are  to  be  fashioned  into  His 
image,  not  because  He  is  the  greatest  of  men,  but 
because  He  alone  of  all  men  was  also  at  the 
same  time  God. 

Without  the  word  of  God  man  is  only  a  traveller 
wandering  without  map  or  guide  in  a  strange  land 
in  search  of  hid  treasure.  If  by  some  good  fortune 
he  at  last  reach  it  at  all,  it  is  only  after  much 
aimless  wandering  and  search.  With  God's  word 
man  is  a  traveller  who  carries  with  him  the  map, 
with  the  chief  features  of  the  lands  he  is  to  traverse 
carefully  noted.  Earthly  maps  may  still  omit 
much,  or  even  be  inaccurate,  and  thus  cause  the 
wandered  now  and  then  to  be  out  of  his  way ;  but 
even  thus  the  map  itself  soon  apprises  him  thereof, 
and  affords  the  means  of  correcting  the  very  error 
caused  by  its  own  imperfections.  But  the  map 
from  heaven,  the  word  of  God,  has  not  even  this 
imperfection  therein. 

Right  and  wrong  are  in  nowise  fixtures;  and 
whatever  rhetorical  force  there  be  in  the  phrases 
Eternal  Verities  and  Everlasting  Righteousness 
can  well  bear  a  goodly  microscopic  look  thereat. 
Right  and  wrong  must  ever  remain  mere  relative 
terms  if  the  wisdom  of  man  is  to  be  the  sole 
standard.  The  only  fixity  here  is,  that  to  violate 
the  known  and  revealed  will  of  God,  known  in 
nature,  revealed  in  Holy  Writ — this  is  surely 
wrong.  All  else  is  mere  metaphysical  suspense, 
mere  drifting.  What  is  right  to-day  may  be 
wrong  to-morrow;  what  is  right  here  may  be 
wrong  there ;  what  is  right  for  thee  may  be  wrong 


for  me.  Nay,  the  great  God  Himself  commands 
in  His  Book  as  right  one  day  what  He  forbids  as 
wrong  in  another.  Even  the  same  deed  may  be 
right  and  wrong ;  right  for  God  to  ordain ;  wrong 
for  man  to  carry  out.  That  His  Son  be  crucified 
God  surely  foreordained;  that  Judas  carry  out 
what  is  foreordained  concerning  himself  and  the 
Christ  only  sends  him  to  his  own  place.  "It  must 
needs  be  that  offences  come"  is  God's  right. 
"But  woe  unto  him  through  whom  they  come"  is 
man's  wrong.  God's  purpose  is  ever  right.  His 
own  appointed  man's  carrying  out  may  oft  be 


Thus  it  comes  to  pass  that  apart  from  Holy 
Writ — obedience  to  which,  when  once  understood, 
is  paramount — it  behooves  men  to  walk  rather 
softly  in  the  matter  of  right  and  wrong.  With 
yourself  you  can  afford  to  be  exacting  even  to  the 
last  drop  of  blood;  but  with  others — beware  lest 
even  the  one  superfluous  drop  exacted  cry  out 
against  thee  on  the  great  and  terrible  day  of  the 
Lord.  If  wrong  makes  cowards  of  men  in  the  end, 
pseudo-right  makes  tyrants  of  them  at  the  start. 
And  of  all  tyrannies,  that  of  self-satisfied  being  in 
the  right,  unfortified  by  Holy  Writ,  is  the  most 


The  horse  is  the  ideal  Mohammedan;  when 
whipped,  it  submits.  The  Mohammedan  submits 
because  he  has  to;  Christian  submits  because  he 
wishes  to.  The  Hindu  is  resigned  because  he  is 
hopeless,  Christian  is  resigned  because  he  hath 



The  first  thing  implanted  into  those  newly  born 
of  the  Spirit  is  a  hitherto  unknown  joy  in  the  ap- 
prehension of  the  Truth,  in  the  newly  found 
knowledge  of  God.  This  joy  does  not  always 
abide;  but  its  whilom  presence  is  the  reason  for 
faith  during  those  seasons  when  joy,  at  best  only 
■a  rare  visitor,  has  taken  her  but  too  frequent 


God  nowhere  promises  that  if  men  obey  Him 
evil  shall  cease.  He  does  promise  that  if  men 
obey  Him,  evil  shall  cease  for — them.  Reformers 
ever  start  out  to  what  they  call  make  the  world 
better,  a  rather  problematic  undertaking  for  aught 
short  of  omnipotence.  Whereas  every  one  can 
diminish  the  number  of  evildoers  by  beginning, 
not  with  the  world,  but  with  himself.  God  has 
declared  that  the  world  cannot  be  made  better 
from  within.  Whate'er  mending  so  far  done 
herein  had  to  come  not  from  within, but  from  above 
the  world.  The  world  itself  is  not  Light,  but 
darkness;  "I  am  the  Light  of  the  world,"  had  to 
be  said  by  Him  who  is  not  of  the  world.  And  all 
the  disciple  can  do  is  not  to  make  the  world  other 
than  it  is — Darkness — but  to  become  himself  a 
light  of  the  world.  Christian  is  here  first  to  keep- 
himself  alive  in  the  midst  of  death  around  him, 
and  by  his  life  be  a  witness  unto  the  One  Way  of 
Life  for  such  as  recognizing  their  own  death,  yearn 
for  the  Life  which  is  Life  indeed. 

With  all  the  evolution  and  progress  of  species, 
Human  Nature  ever  remains  the  same  Pandora 


Box  with  its  lid  only  temporarily  on;  the  same 
volcano  with  only  the  night-cap  on.  And  no 
civilization,  no  science,  no  art  has  yet  been  dis- 
covered that  can  prevent  the  lid  from  now  and 
then  coming  off,  the  volcano-cap  from  periodical 
blowing  off.  So  that  Jew-baiting  in  darkest 
Russia  is  matched  by  negro  hatred  in  brightest 
America;  Armenian  massacre  under  the  un- 
speakable Turk,  by  Congo  chopping-off  of  hands 
under  highly  European  Belgians. 

Christianity  at  once  gives  notice  unto  men  that 
unless  their  eyes  be  anointed  they  cannot  see  its 
truth,  unless  their  ears  be  circumcised  they  cannot 
hear  its  truth,  unless  their  hearts  be  humbled 
they  cannot  appropriate  its  truth,  unless  the  will 
be  surrendered  they  cannot  continue  in  its  truth. 
Christian  therefore  can  indeed  belong  to  the 
multitude  and  be  with  the  myriads  that  follow 
the  Master  because  of  His  mighty  works,  or  even 
the  loaves  and  the  fishes.  But  to  be  His  disciples, 
His  learners,  receiving  from  Him  not  the  things 
which  He  dispenseth  to  all  freely  as  He  goeth 
about,  but  to  the  fewer  as  He  sitteth  down — they 
must  follow  Him  up  to  the  mount,  even  at  the 
expense  of  some  weariness  of  the  flesh. 

Christianity,  whose  first  law  is  that  man  walk 
not  by  sight  but  by  faith,  does  not  pretend  to  give 
answer  to  the  problems  of  life  that  press  for  solu- 
tion. The  problems  are  indeed  real,  but  the 
answer  thereto  in  man's  way  is  not  ever  needful. 
As  for  fevers  Christianity  offereth  not  quinine, 
but  cleansed  blood  which  makes  fevers  impossible, 


and  quinine  needless,  so  it  offers  not  so  much 
solutions  of  problems,  as  a  trustful  spirit  before 
God — before  Him,  in  whose  presence  problems 
vanish.  Christianity  thus  offers  a  clue  which  if  a 
man  follow  will  in  time  lead  him  out  of  the  laby- 
rinth; but  if  he  follow  it  not,  he  is  doomed  for  aye 
to  wander,  and  to  be  devoured  by  the  monster 
dwelling  therein.  But  the  following  of  the  clue  is 
slow,  and  the  journey  through  the  labyrinth  long; 
while  man,  ever  pressing  onward  from  sheer 
restlessness  would  fain  take  the  gates  of  heaven 
by  storm.  But  heaven  is  to  be  stormed  neither 
by  the  Self -Reliance  of  Emerson,  nor  by  the  self- 
abandonment  of  Carlyle ;  neither  by  the  humani- 
tarianism  of  Ruskin,  nor  by  the  culture  of  Arnold, 
nor  even  by  the  self-effacement  of  Tolstoy. 
Heaven  is  to  be  stormed  solely  by  self-abasement 
before  God  through  Christ,  by  self-abandonment 
unto  God  in  Christ. 

Christianity  is  indeed  a  democracy  where  all 
are  equal,  but  it  is  an  equality  before  God,  not 
men;  it  is  equality  not  so  much  of  rights  as  of 
duties,  not  so  much  of  privileges  for  enjoying  as 
of  privileges  for  enduring;  as  much  of  dying  for 
one  another  as  of  living  for  one  another.  Democ- 
racy is  a  manner  of  rule  where  each  shall  be  able 
to  get  the  most  out  of  the  other,  Christianity  offers 
a  mode  of  life  where  each  shall  endeavor  to  put 
the  most  into  the  other;  remembering  the  words 
spoken :    It  is  more  blessed  to  give  than  to  receive. 

Christianity  indeed  commands  its  disciples  to 
toil:    Let  each,  says  the  Spirit  through  Paul,  labor 



with  his  hands  that  which  is  good.  Let  each  man 
— not  some  men;  let  each  labor' — not  sit  in  idle- 
ness; let  each  earn  his  bread,  not  so  much  by  his 
wits,  as  by  labor  of  his  hands;  and  let  each  labor 
with  his  hands,  not  so  much  that  which  is  use- 
less, or  even  hurtful,  like  cannon  balls  and  battle- 
ships, but  that  which  is  good   .    .    . 


The  ancient  sage  in  answer  to  the  question  of 
the  passer-by,  How  long  will  it  take  me  to  get  to 
Athens,  could  only  answer:  Go!  Since  the  first 
requisite  to  the  proper  answer  was  a  knowledge  of 
the  gait  of  the  inquirer.  In  contrary  thereto  the 
first  demand  of  Christianity  assumes  that  re- 
gardless of  station  in  life  and  intellectual  equip- 
ment, or  native  endowment,  all  are  headed  the 
wrong  way,  are  facing  the  wrong  point  of  the 
compass,  are  going  down  the  broad  road  that 
leadeth  to  Destruction.  And  so  Christianity 
lifteth  up  its  voice  unto  men  in  the  palace  and  in 
the  hovel,  to  the  ruler  and  to  the  slave,  to  the 
exalted  and  to  the  despised — "Whithersoe'er,  O 
man,  thou  art  going — Stop !"  God  ever  cries  unto 
men :  Halt !  The  road  of  man  is  a  veritable  high- 
way which  every  now  and  then  displays  unex- 
pectedly a  gigantic  "Stop!"  before  him.  "Danger 
ahead.  Look  out  for  the  steam  cars,  Look  out  for 
the  electric  cars,  Look  out  for  the  steam-roller, 
State  Road  is  building  ahead,  Dangerous  passing 
through  here!  Beware,  O  man,  Stop,  Look,  Lis- 


Christianity  is  indeed  an  account  of  Christ,  a 
theory  about  Christ;  it  is  indeed  a  faith  in  Christ, 


a  witness  unto  Christ,  and  a  love  for  Christ:  but 
that  which  makes  the  history  of  Christ  probable, 
and  the  theory  about  Christ  plausible,  that  which 
makes  a  faith  in  Christ  reasonable  and  a  witness 
unto  Him  possible,  that  which  makes  the  love  for 
Christ  intelligible,  is  that  the  blood  of  Christ  has 
been  poured  out  for  men,  that  the  risen  life  of 
Christ  be  put  into  men. 

Philanthrophy  without  love  unto  Christ  does  for 
men  what  the  towel  does  for  the  soiled  glass;  it 
wipes  off  indeed  the  dust,  but  it  leaves  behind  a 
lint,  which  obscures  the  vision  through  the  glass 
only  less  than  the  dust  itself  so  that  the  wiping 
by  the  towel  must  be  followed  by  that  with  linen 
kerchief.  The  wiping  away  of  the  filth  of  man  by 
mere  philanthropic  effort  leaves  the  lint  still  on 
men ;  and  needs  to  be  followed  by  the  pure  linen 
kerchief  of  Christ  to  make  them  thoroughly 

Men  cannot  be  made  to  move  by  trying  to  push 
their  shadows.  Move  the  man,  and  the  shadow 
moves  also.  To  reform  man's  doings  without  re- 
forming the  man  is  to  attempt  to  make  powder 
less  explosive  by  making  it  merely  smokeless: 
But  it  is  not  the  smoke  that  makes  the  powder 
explode.  All  proposed  remedies  for  the  ills  of 
men- — Socialism,  Nationalism,  Associated  Chari- 
ties, Single  Tax — begin  with  the  pushing  of  the 
shadow.  All  these  are  honest  attempts  to  put  out 
the  fire  by  turning  the  bellows  against  the  smoke. 
Hence,  though  poor  human  nature  hath  never  yet 
lacked  right  earnest  philanthropy,  philanthropic 


Dame  Partington  is  ever  still  kept  busy  sweeping 
away  Atlantic  Ocean  with  mop  and  broom. 

To  remedy  the  ills  of  men,  not  circumstances 
must  be  changed,  but  men :  and  for  changing  men 
is  needful,  not  best  equipped  earthly  machinery 
(even  though  it  be  run  by  pity  and  love) ,  but  that 
grace  from  heaven  which  is  given  in  answer  to 
bended  knees  rather  than  to  full  hands.  Christ 
alone  can  change  men,  and  only  those  who  through 
Christ  have  been  cleansed  by  His  blood  from  the 
past,  have  died  through  His  cross  unto  the  pres- 
ent, have  risen  through  His  resurrection  unto  the 
newness  of  life  in  the  future.  All  else  is  mere  en- 
deavor to  retard  the  earth  in  its  swiftness  of  course 
as  it  rolleth  on  some  one  thousand  miles  an  hour. 

The  sole  trouble  with  all  optimism  is  that  it  has 
not  yet  seen  sorrow,  has  not  yet  seen  sorrow 
enough.  And  in  God's  great  universe,  whate'er 
else  is  unreal,  sorrow  is  real.  If  the  babe  as  he 
cometh  into  the  world  may  be  uttering  his  cry,  if 
not  of  immediate  pain,  at  least  of  prophetic  sor- 
row, the  mother  at  the  incoming  of  every  man 
into  the  world  knoweth  with  the  proof  of  the  bit- 
terest agony  that  the  command  "I  will  greatly 
multiply  thy  pain  and  thy  conception.  In  pain 
thou  shalt  bring  forth  children,"  was  not  the 
mere  raving  of  an  oriental  tribal  God,  as  the 
Harvard  Professor,  with  his  eyes  gazing  upon  the 
motto  on  its  every  wall — Veritas,  Christo  and 
Ecclesiae — so  flatulently  styles  Him;  but  every 
mother  knows  that  this  is  the  ever  recurring, 
never  ending  verification   of   the   word   of   Him 


whose  goings  forth  are  from  Everlasting  to  Ever- 
lasting. Optimism  is  all  well,  when  Jeshurun  is 
fat,  and  he  can  indeed  kick;  and  gambol  as  the 
calf  in  the  stall;  but  when  there  is  need  of  bitter 
crying  and  tears,  lest  otherwise  the  heart  break 
for  silence,  then,  indeed,  bridge  whist  may  drown 
the  sorrow  for  an  hour,  the  bare-bosomed  prima- 
donna  for  two,  and  be-swallow-tailed  Browning 
lecturer  for  two  and  one-half  hours,  but  the  lasting 
comfort  is  not  to  be  found  until  the  soul  can  cry 
out  triumphantly: 

Thou  art  my  refuge,  Thou  art  my  God; 

In  Thee  alone  do  I  put  my  trust. 

Next  to  the  science  of  keeping  well,  is  the  science 
of  getting  well.  As  a  practical  science,  therefore, 
medicine,  covering  as  it  does  both  needs,  is  indeed 
the  needfullest;  yet,  after  some  sixty  centuries  of 
experience  with  the  ills  of  flesh,  Wendell  Holmes 
can  still  say  unto  men :  If  all  the  medicines  were 
cast  into  the  sea,  mankind  would  be  much  the 
better  off,  though  it  would  be  so  much  the  worse 
for  the  fish.  And  after  some  centuries  now  of  real 
experimental  science,  and  the  therapeutics  and 
anatomizings  and  inoculations,  Christian  Science, 
so-called,  can  still  vociferate,  not  without  some 
show  of  justice,  that  the  seat  of  bodily  ailments  is 
after  all  not  so  much  in  the  flesh  as  in  the  spirit .  .  . 


And  the  Sarsaparillas,  and  the  pills,  and  the 
pellets,  and  the  powders  and  the  waters,  for  the 
Spirit  are  not  to  be  discovered  in  the  chemist's 
laboratory,  or  on  the  anatomist's  table,  or  in  the 
current  through  Ley  den  jars   .    .    . 



Man  hath  indeed  been  driven  out  of  paradise, 
but  the  gate  of  paradise  hath  in  no  wise  been  shut 
against  him.  The  tree  of  life  in  the  midst  of  the 
Garden  hath  in  nowise  been  allowed  to  wither. 
Rather  the  contrary :  the  tree  of  life  is  still  in  the 
midst  of  the  garden,  and  the  garden  is  still  open 
unto  men,  only  it  is  to  be  entered  not  in  man's 
way,  but  in  God's  way;  not  through  the  broad 
road,  but  by  the  narrow  path ;  not  through  many 
gates,  but  through  the  one  gate,  that  of  the  East, 
past  the  cherubim;  and  the  tree  of  life  can  be 
reached  only  through  the  flame  of  the  sword  that 
turneth  every  way   .    .    . 

But  man  has  ever  been  prone  to  follow  not 
God's  ways  but  his  own  ways. 

Adam  covers  his  nakedness  not  with  the  heaven- 
supplied  goatskin  got  through  the  shedding  of 
blood;  but  with  his  own  made  fig-leaf  with  no 
blood  therein ;  and  the  law  of  heaven  is :  Without 
shedding  of  blood  is  no  remission.  Cain  offers 
not  the  firstling  of  the  flock,  with  the  shed  blood, 
but  the  bloodless  fruit  of  the  ground ;  and  the  law 
of  heaven  is:  Without  the  shedding  of  blood  is 
no  remission.  The  builders  of  the  Tower  of 
Babel  say,  Come,  let  us  make  us  a  name,  and 
climb  to  heaven  in  a  way  other  than  the  God- 
appointed  one ;  but  the  law  of  heaven  is :  Without 
the  shedding  of  blood  is  no  remission.  And  so  the 
history  of  man  is  ever :  God  calling  unto  men  to 
follow  His  way,  the  way  of  the  cross;   men  ever 


seeking  to  reconquer  Paradise  in  their  own  way, 
the  way  of  the  crown.  But  God  ever  calls  unto 
men:  "As  the  heavens  are  higher  than  the  earth, 
so  are  My  ways  higher  than  yours.  As  the  east 
is  far  from  the  west,  so  are  my  ways  removed 
from  yours." 


Christianity,  like  Omar  of  old,  can  also  afford 
to  burn  the  whole  of  the  Alexandrian  library,  and 
for  precisely  the  same  reason.  If. the  books  are 
against  the  Bible  they  are  useless;  if  they  cor- 
roborate the  Bible,  they  are  needless.  But  there 
is  this  difference  between  the  spirit  of  Mahomet 
and  the  spirit  of  Christ.  Omar,  for  this  reason, 
good  in  itself,  forthwith  burns  the  library,  thus 
becoming  the  executor  of  his  own  wisdom.  Chris- 
tian is  content  to  leave  to  God  the  execution  of 
this  corollary  of  his  own  thought,  and  considers 
this  useless  library  as  part  of  the  great  world  of 
which  he  is  no  wise  part,  however  much  he  be  in 
it.  A  world,  which  even  he  in  due  time  may  yet 
use,  if  so  it  be  that  he  abuse  it  not.  The  Moham- 
medan is  thus  stern  because  he  still  fears  what  is 
not  useful  to  his  truth.  Christian  is  equally  stern, 
but  he  has  no  fear  for  his  truth;  and  with  that 
perfect  love  which  casteth  out  fear  he  can  well 
afford  to  be  liberal  even  to  the  books  that  oppose 
his  Book. 


The  Capitol  at  Washington  cannot  be  exploded 
by  a  bundle  of  matches,  though  a  goodly  quantity 
of  dynamite  may.  And  the  Christian  religion  has 
hitherto  been  assailed  only  with  matches.  The 
explosive  that  alone  can  shatter  its  fortresses  has 
not  yet  been  discovered,  though  for  some  eighteen 


centuries  folk  have  been  busy  with  the  invention 
thereof.  Let  them  go  on  seeking,  they  shall  not 
find,  for  He  that  hath  said:  "Upon  this  rock  I 
build  my  church  and  the  gates  of  Hades  shall  not 
prevail  against  it,"  was  also  the  one  of  whom  it 
abideth  eternally  true:  " Heaven  and  earth  shall 
pass  away,  but  my  words  shall  not  pass  away." 


Men  are  hardly  ever  brought  to  Christ  by  ex- 
ternal evidence.  "No  one  cometh  unto  me  except 
the  Father  draw  him,"  is  the  primary  law,  and 
the  external  or  historical  evidences  of  the  truth  of 
Christianity  are  thus  at  best  not  the  compelling 
power  itself  but  the  line  along  which  the  com- 
pelling power  works.  The  evidences  that  appeal 
to  the  reason,  to  the  emotions,  to  the  will,  are  not 
yet  the  moving  current  itself,  but  only  the  wave 
along  which  the  current  runs.  Our  hearts,  like 
that  of  Lydia  of  old,  have  first  to  be  opened  by 
the  grace  of  God,  ere  the  evidence  can  at  all  have 
lodgement  within  them. 

We  know  that  had  we,  left  to  our  own  selves, 
been  waiting  for  proof,  evidence,  and  the  rest,  we 
should  still  be  waiting  for  it  till  now.  We  thus 
know  that  if  we  believe  on  our  Lord  to-day  it  is 
because  God  drew  us  unto  Himself  through  His 
Son,  and  it  was  by  Him  that  our  hearts  were  first 
opened  to  receive  the  Word  of  Life ;  and  our  eyes 
opened,  so  that  we  can  say,  Whereas  before  we 
were  blind,  we  now  do  see.  We,  in  short,  though 
all  outward  evidence  were  to  fail  us,  have  the 
evidence  within  that  Christ  is  the  Son  of  the 
Living  God,  since  flesh  and  blood  cannot  reveal 
this  rock  of  the  Christ's  church,  this  goodly  con- 


fession,  but  only  the  Father  which  is  in  heaven. 
We  have  the  witness  within,  the  Spirit  bearing 
witness  with  our  spirit  that  Christ  is  the  Saviour 
from  sin,  that  the  Bible  is  His  book. 

But  howe'er  sure  this  subjective  experience  of 
ours,  it  cannot  be  binding  upon  others.  They 
must  have  reasons  binding  upon  them,  or  they 
must  have  the  same  subjective  experience  as  our- 
selves. Our  faith  to  be  proved  unto  them  as  true 
must  be  proved  unto  them  not  by  reasons  which 
are  only  subjective  to  us — in  which  case  they 
would  only  be  resting  upon  their  trust  in  us — but 
also  objective  to  them.  Now,  believers  are  in 
danger  of  magnifying  their  own  subjective  evi- 
dence; unbelievers  are  in  peril  of  minimizing  the 
objective  evidences  for  the  truths  of  Christianity, 
which  if  candidly  examined  are  enough  to  be 
decisive  even  in  a  case  of  a  capital  crime  before 
a  jury. 


The  objective  reasons  are  as  compelling  of 
assent  as  the  corollaries  of  the  propositions  of 
Euclid.  And  while  it  is  true  that  when  the  present 
gainsayers  of  the  faith  are  at  last  convinced, 
it  will,  like  our  own  whilom  conviction,  be 
brought  about  by  subjective  experiences  like  our 
own,  rather  than  by  external  evidences ;  by  light 
from  above  rather  than  by  conviction  from  with- 
out; yet  when  the  truth  is  rejected  by  them 
these  reasons,  compelling  as  they  would  be  to  an 
unsullied  heart,  will  testify  against  them  on  the 
great  day  of  the  Lord ;  and  their  defence :  I  for- 
sooth sought  light,  but  it  came  not  nigh  me,  was 
not  brought  to  me — is  forever  barred. 



Unlike  the  millionaire  benefactor  who  gives  a 
million  on  condition  that  another  million  be 
raised  by  their  own  efforts,  God's  grace  is  at  first 
offered  free  and  unconditional.  It  is  only  when 
man  has  already  become  alive  unto  God  through 
the  acceptance  of  that  gift,  that  God  becomes  no 
longer  unlike  the  millionaire,  but  like  him,  and 
offers  His  new  million  on  condition  that  the  re- 
ceiver now  raise  his  own  million.  The  Holy 
Spirit,  the  one  talent,  is  entrusted  that  more  tal- 
ents be  made  therewith,  ten  if  need  be,  five  if 
possible,  but  at  least  one  other  as  the  minimum. 

The  law  is :  First  the  natural,  then  the  spiritual. 
Men  must  indeed  begin  with  obeying  even  the 
letter  of  the  Sermon  on  the  Mount — even  to  the 
extent  of  giving  to  the  child  the  razor  it  asks  for; 
but  this  only  so  long  as  you  also  are  a  child,  and 
know  not  as  yet  how  to  discern  the  things  that 
differ.  But  when  thou  too  art  become  a  man, 
then  thou  art  free,  being  now  led  of  the  Spirit, 
and  then  thou  canst  afford  no  longer  to  obey  the 
letter  which  killeth  .  .  .  This  distinction 
Tolstoy  who  ever  remains  a  babe  has  not  learned. 

The  idea  of  a  Christian  state  before  the  return 
of  Jesus  to  reign  in  person  rests  on  a  misunder- 
standing of  Christianity  as  well  as  of  the  state, 
Christianity  recognizes  the  state,  but  only  as 
something  different  from  itself,  at  times  even 
hostile  to  itself,  and  therefore  it  commands  to 
pray  for  the  state,  just  as  it  commands  to  pray 


for  enemies.  The  state  is  appointed  of  heaven  to 
bear  the  sword,  Christianity  threatens  that  those 
who  take  up  the  sword  shall  perish  by  the  sword. 
Michael  and  Satan  belong  to  opposing  hosts. 
But  Michael  recognizes  Satan,  and  when  rebuke 
him  he  must,  he  rebukes  him  only  in  the  name  of 
the  Lord,  giving  him  his  due  as  one  who  has  re- 
ceived his  authority  from  God. 


Tolstoyism,  Socialism  and  even  Fors  Clavigera, 
are  at  bottom  only  zealous  attempts  to  bring  in 
everlasting  righteousness  without  the  Righteous 
One;  Peace  without  the  Prince  of  Peace;  the 
Kingdom  without  the  King ;  an  attempt  to  make 
man  Lord  of  Creation  without  Him  who  is  Lord 
of  Lords. 

Peace,  blessed  be  God,  there  is  indeed  already 
now  on  earth,  but  it  is  only  for  those  of  whom  it 
hath  been  said  Thou  wilt  keep  him  in  perfect 
peace  whose  mind  is  stayed  on  Thee ;  and,  Great 
peace  have  they  that  love  Thy  law.  This  for  the 
individual;  and  there  is  also  a  peace  for  the  mass ; 
but  not  until  He  reigneth  of  whom  it  hath  been 
foretold  that  a  King  shall  reign  in  righteousness. 

Christian  Socialism  is  an  attempt  on  the  part  of 
many  who  profess  the  name  of  our  Lord,  to  bring 
about  worldly  comforts  for  all  by  means  of  the 
spread  of  the  teachings  of  the  Master,  so  that  all 
shall  have  abundance  of  food,  raiment,  shelter, 
leisure,  books,  theatres,  lectures,  culture — worldly 
happiness  in  short.  But  to  make  His  disciples 
"comfortable"  in  food,  raiment  and  shelter,  as 
the  world  understands  comfort,  never  was  the 


intent  of  the  Master.  He  Himself  had  no  place  to 
lay  His  head,  though  the  foxes,  and  the  birds  of 
the  air,  who  without  Him  were  not  created,  have 
their  holes  and  nests.  He  bids  His  apostles  go 
forth  without  purse,  scrip  or  change  of  garment. 
And,  moreover,  He  promised  that  the  poor  we 
shall  always  have  with  us,  so  that  the  abolition  of 
"poverty,"  as  the  world  understands  poverty,  was 
not  what  the  Master  came  for.  He  expressly  told 
His  disciples  that  in  the  world  they  shall  have 
tribulation.  He  makes  His  disciples  rich  by 
making  them  care  little  about  comforts  whether  of 
body  or  mind,  and  they  thus  cease  to  be  a  factor 
in  Christian  life.  If  a  disciple  of  the  Master  is 
called  into  a  palace,  he  praises  the  Lord;  if  called 
into  a  hovel,  he  praises  likewise.  If  fed  three 
meals  a  day,  the  disciple  giveth  thanks;  if  fed 
once,  the  disciple  giveth  thanks  likewise.  For 
our  Father  knoweth  the  things  we  are  in  need  of. 
If  Christians  have  no  ' 'comforts,"  it  is  because 
their  Father  knoweth  that  of  these  they  are  not 
in  need. 

Christian  Socialism  is,  therefore,  a  movement 
based  on  a  fundamental  misconception  of  what 
our  Lord  came  to  do  and  to  teach.  If  this  earth 
were  to  be  man's  permanent  abode  as  he  now  is, 
the  search  for  comforts  and  for  the  means  of 
bringing  about  universal  happiness  would  be  to 
the  purpose.  But  this  earth  is  for  Christian  a 
mere  passenger  station  the  disciple  is  here  a  mere 
sojourner,  until  the  Lord  come  to  take  His  own 
into  the  mansions  prepared  for  them.  "My  king- 
dom is  not  of  this  world,"  says  our  Lord;  and  the 
church  of  Christ  says  with  Paul :    "Our  citizenship 


is  in  heaven."  So  that  the  energies  spent  by 
Christians  in  endeavoring  to  establish  now  be- 
fore the  Lord  come  (when  there  shall  indeed  be  a 
new  earth)  an  age  of  physical  and  intellectual 
comforts  for  all,  are  devoted  to  the  things  of  the 
flesh,  and  the  Lord  Christ  came  to  enable  men  to 
walk  in  the  Spirit  which  ever  lusteth  against  the 

What  marks  the  Christ  as  the  greatest  psychol- 
ogist is  among  other  things,  the  order  of  His  five 
"Ye  have  heard's"  in  the  Sermon  on  the  Mount. 
He  is  there  indirectly  showing  the  impossibility  of 
mending  the  natural  man,  the  old  man :  that  what 
is  needed  is  not  a  mending,  a  patching  up  of  flesh 
with  spirit,  but  a  new  birth,  a  new  creation  from 
above,  preceded  by  a  death,  not  only  to  our  bad 
selves,  but  also  to  our  good  selves.  Accordingly, 
the  first  three  "Ye  have  heard's"  deal  with  the 
need  of  dying  to  the  bad  self — anger,  lust,  corrup- 
tion of  heart  as  attested  by  idle  words.  But  re- 
sisting wrong,  and  hatred  of  enemies,  the  sub- 
jects of  the  last  two  "Ye  have  heards,"  are  not 
vicious  things,  they  are  virtuous  things.  Without 
the  one  it  is  impossible  to  assert  oneself  as*  a  man ; 
without  the  other  it  becomes  impossible  to  assert 
oneself  as  a  citizen.  And  mere  human  society 
would  at  once  collapse  without  these  two  virtues. 
But  the  Christ  came  to  found  not  an  earthly  so- 
ciety, howe'er  ideal,  but  a  heavenly  one;  hence, 
He  insists  that  these  men  must  die  even  to  their 
best  selves,  for  even  the  best  of  earth  is  still  earth 
and  not  heaven.  For  heaven  things  must  become 
altogether  new.  Old  wine  in  old  wine  skins,  but 
new  wine  in  new  wineskins. 



Indignation,  therefore — the  root  of  the  last  two 
"Ye  have  heards" — as  a  mere  earthly  thing,  is 
rather  laudable;  at  its  best  it  is  even  a  noble 
thing,  for  it  is  then  essentially  only  love  inverted, 
or  wrong  end  to.  But  even  this  bit  of  excellent 
earth  is  unfit  for  heaven,  since  oftenest  it  is  the 
combination  of  two  of  the  most  heinous  sins  of 
man;  of  anger,  the  greatest  fault  of  the  heart, 
(it  being  embryonic  murder) ;  and  of  condemna- 
tion, the  greatest  fault  of  the  head,  since  it  is  a 
sort  of  full-fledged  self -righteousness.  The  one  is 
the  sin  against  Love,  the  supreme  law  betwixt 
man  and  his  fellow;  the  other  is  the  sin  against 
Humility,  the  supreme  law  between  man  and  his 

But,  even  at  its  best,  Indignation  is  still  es- 
sentially a  judgment,  a  condemnation.  For  all 
indignation  with  men,  even  when  most  righteous 
is  due  largely  to  the  expectation  of  better  things 
from  them;  so  much  so  that  if  men  but  knew  it 
they  would  consider  indignation  against  them  a 
kind  of  -compliment  to  them.  As  soon  as  we  see 
that  what  we  look  for  is  not  there,  we  are  no 
longer  indignant,  we  only  pity.  I  am  not  indig- 
nant with  the  ox  for  chewing  his  cud,  howe'er 
graceless  the  motion  of  his  jaw,  though  I  am  in- 
dignant with  my  masculine  fellow  for  chewing  his 
weed,  and  with  my  feminine  fellow  for  chewing 
her  gum.  The  ox  is  only  doing  what  is  ox-like; 
these  are  not  doing  what  is  manlike,  womanlike. 
Of  the  ox,  I  expect  only  oxy  things;  of  men  and 
women  I  expect  human  things   .    .    . 



I  used  to  be  indignant  with  the  hard,  cold,  self- 
satisfied  Philistine.  I  now  almost  love  that  dear, 
hard,  cold,  self -satisfied  Philistine.  It  is  only  the 
ox  chewing  his  cud   .    .    . 

Religion  is  the  one  land  that  cannot  be  visited 
for  mere  sightseeing.    One  must  move  thither  for 
permanent  abode. 

A  Christian  metaphysician  is  a  mesalliance  be- 
tween a  good  intellect  and  bad  piety. 

All  other  nations  have  made  their  gods.  Zeus 
was  a  Greek;  Mars,  a  Roman;  Thor,  a  Norse. 
The  Jews  alone  did  not  make  Jehovah :  the  God 
of  Mercy  and  Vengeance.  The  God  who  uttered 
upon  His  chosen  people  the  curses  of  Leviticus 
and  Deuteronomy  was  not  made  by  a  Jew. 

Barbarian,   Greek,  Jew,   Christian:     The  bar- 
barian had  no  wisdom;    the  Greek  had  its  ele- 
ments;   the  Jew  had  its  substance;    Christianity 
has  its  perfections. 

A  man  is  not  fit  for  heaven  till  he  finds  earth 
too  large  for  him  first,  too  small  for  him  after- 

A  man's  religion  may  not  always  be  a  comfort 
to  himself,  but  if  true  it  will  always  enable  him  to 
be  a  comfort  to  others. 



As  to  their  worldly  station  mankind  consists  of 
those  in  the  blue  book  and  those  without.  As  to 
their  heavenly  station,  the  division  is  between 
those  in  the  red  book  and  those  without. 

The  distance  from  earth  to  heaven  is  infinite 
and  can  be  bridged  only  by  God.     The  distance 
from  heaven  to  earth  is  but  a  span,  and  can  be 
reached  by  any  suppliant  hand. 

Eternal  life  can  be  gained  only  by  recognizing 
God.     It  may  be  lost  by  ignoring  Satan. 

The  door  to  heaven  must  be  forced.    The  door 
to  hell  needs  no  forcing.    It  opens  of  itself  as  soon 
as  man  places  his  whole  weight  thereon. 

The  light  of  Christ  in  the  disciple  is  like  the 
screen  in  the  banker's  window;  enables  those 
within  to  look  out,  prevents  those  without  from 
looking  in. 


The  road  to  heaven  is  equally  long  from  every 
point.     The  road  to  hell  equally  short. 

There  is  certainly  the  divine  in  man.    It  is  only 
a  question  whether  the  divine  is  in  every  man. 

Happy  he  who  hath  a  friend  in  need;     but 
happier  he  who  hath  Him  for  friend  that  maketh 
friends  needless. 



Greatness  in  the  world  is  like  the  lofty  mount : 
can  be  seen  from  afar,  with  glories  of  sun  and 
cloud  playing  thereon,  but  without  refreshing  the 
weary.  Greatness  in  the  Kingdom  is  like  the 
deep  well :  can  be  seen  only  close  by,  with  only  a 
bit  of  sky  playing  therein,  but  it  quenches  the 


True  religion  adorns  a  man's  life,  his  life  cannot 
demean  the  true  religion.  The  flower  gives  frag- 
rance to  the  pot ;  the  meanness  of  the  pot  detracts 
nothing  from  the  flower. 

That  is  true  religion  which  enables  even  the 
poor  to  become  givers,  even  the  rich  to  become 


All  that  is  bad  in  us  is  ours.  All  that  is  good  in 
us  is  only  a  loan  from  above  to  become  ours  with 
interest  by  good  use  of  the  principal. 

In  our  talk  to  men  we  need  a  smiling  face  to 
show  forth  our  love.  In  our  talk  to  God  we  need 
first,  a  tearful  face  to  show  forth  our  fear,  and  then 
a  cheerful  face  to  show  forth  our  trust. 

The  Christian  life  is  also  a  profession  to  be 
learned.  Acknowledgment  of  one's  ignorance  is 
its  primary  school;  willingness  to  obey,  its  gram- 
mar school ;  and  diligence  in  the  pursuit  of  the  goal , 
its  high  school. 




The  evidences  of  Christianity  that  were  never 
meant  to  be  out  of  print  are  the  lives  of  Christians. 


Christian's  life  was  meant  to  be  not  so  much 
like  the  European  Station  where  the  agent  is 
settled  with  his  household ;  rather  like  the  Ameri- 
can Station,  planned  only  for  the  passengers' 
getting  on  or  off. 

The  less  men  know  the  harder  they  find  it  to 
believe  the  natural;  the  more  they  know  the 
easier  they  believe  the  supernatural. 

True  health  requires  a  healthy  soul  in  a  healthy 
body.     It  is  a  mark  of  man's  fallen  state  that 
many  a  soul  can  be  kept  healthy  only  while  con- 
fined in  a  sick  body. 

To  see  earth  we  must  open  our  eyes ;  to  behold 
heaven  we  must  shut  them. 

To  the  unregenerate  the  Bible  is  a  mere  checker- 
board with  squares  of  alternative  black  and  white. 
But  the  regenerate  is  taught  of  the  Spirit  which 
are  the  squares  to  be  played  upon. 

The  non-Christian  must  either  conquer  circum- 
stances or  be  conquered  by  them.    Christian  must 
conquer  in  circumstance. 



The  difference  between  true  Christianity  and 
its  counterfeit  is  this :  both  recognize  sin  and  the 
need  of  washing  it  away.  But  the  one  demands 
for  it  nothing  short  of  Blood;  the  other  is  content 
with  rosewater. 


To  be  a  miniature  Christ  is  the  only  way  to  be 
a  great  Christian. 

"You  cannot  guide  the  multitude  without  de- 
ceiving it,"  said  the  wisest  of  the  Greeks.  And 
truly  enough,  if  it  is  to  be  guided  without  com- 
mission from  above.  It  is  a  mark  of  the  divine 
commission  of  Moses  and  the  Christ  that  the  one 
did  guide  God's  chosen  visible  host,  that  the  other 
does  guide  God's  chosen  invisible  host — without 
deceiving   .    .    . 

Every  un-Christian  teacher,  howe'er  high  his 
aim,  is  at  best  only  a  kite:    flies  and  soars,  and 
even  dashes  now  and  then  straight  for  the  heavens 
— but  that  string !   .    .    . 

Culture  is  like  a  fire  in  the  grate :  shines,  and 
warms  your  front,  but  leaves  cold  your  back. 
Religion  is  like  the  oven  wall;  the  fire  is  out  of 
sight,  but  one  can  lean  against  the  wall,  and  be 
warmed  from  head  to  foot. 

Both  culture  and  religion  may  leave  a  man 
angular;   but  culture  leaves  him  a  mere  triangle; 
religion  doubles  him,  and  leaves  him  four-square 
for  awhile,  rounds  him  out  at  last. 



Culture  makes  the  round  man,  religion  the 
square  man.  Culture,  like  a  sphere,  rests  on  only 
one  point.  Religion,  like  a  cube,  rests  on  a  whole 


The  dear  critics — they  mean  well! — ask  me  to 
give  up  Moses  to  save  John.  Well,  Philip  of 
Macedon  asked  the  Athenians  to  give  up  the  dogs 
to  the  wolves  to  save  the  sheep.  And  he  too,  dear 
Philip,  may  have  meant  it  quite  well   .    .    . 

In    the    early    centuries    Christianity    suffered 
most  from  its  avowed  enemies;   in  the  last,  from 
its  professed  friends. 

Are  you  tempted?  Prayer  will  sustain  you. 
Have  you  yielded?  Prayer  will  restore  you.  Are 
you  disheartened?  Prayer  will  encourage  you. 
Are  you  at  last  in  peace?  Prayer  will  keep  it 
for  you. 

You  will  have  to  believe  sometime.     It  is  only 
a  question  whether  it  shall  be  before  sight  is  lost 
or  after. 

The  simplest  way  to  get  to  the  top  of  the  tall 
building  is  to  step  into  the  elevator,  and  there  stand 
while  lifted  on  high.  The  simplest  way  to  get  to 
the  heights  of  heaven  is  to  step  into  Christ,  and  in 
Him  stand  while  He  too  lifts  you  on  high. 



All  the  spiritual  ills  of  men  have  only  two 
causes,  the  confounding  of  things  that  differ,  the 
sundering  of  things  that  belong  together. 

Does  the  jury  declare  the  prisoner  innocent  be- 
cause he  has  been  untried?  No,  rather  because  he 
has  been  tried  and  found  innocent.  Do  I  believe 
Christianity  true  because  it  remains  untried?  No, 
rather  because  I  have  sat  at  its  trial  and  have 
found  it  true. 


My  friend  of  the  world,  whoso  you  are :  Either 
Jesus  Christ  was  mistaken  or  you  are.  The  answer 
that  neither  might  be  is  only  evading  the  issue, 
not  settling  it.  But  the  ages  have  decided  that 
Jesus  Christ  was  not  mistaken.  It  is  for  you  to 
decide  whether  you  shall  continue  to  be. 

Where  the  wisest  of  the  heathen  says:  To  be 
very  good  and  very  rich  is  impossible,  the  Son  of 
Man  saith  with  poise  only:  How  hardly  shall 
they  that  have  riches  enter  into  the  kingdom  of 
the  heavens. 


I  am  not  averse  to  humanitarianism,  but  it  is 
not  Christianity,  not  even  Spirituality.  Many  a 
dog  has  more  humanity  to  him  than  perhaps  two- 
thirds  of  the  folk  I  know.  But  this  does  not  make 
the  dog  a  Christian,  though  there  very  likely  are 
many  Christians  among  these  two-thirds. 



Christian  like  the  statue  must  also  ever  keep 
to  his  pedestal,  only  he  must  not  remain  equally 


The  boundaries  of  the  Spartans  were  on  the 
points  of  their  spears,  and  these  took  them  if  need 
be  to  the  ends  of  the  earth.  The  boundaries  of 
Christian  are  on  the  points  of  his  prayers,  and 
these  take  him  to  the  heights  of  heaven. 

The  typical  land  of  Christian  is  Switzerland. 
He  can  afford  to  be  as  cold  as  its  mountains,  if  only 
as  high;  as  narrow  as  its  valleys,  if  only  as  fertile. 

In  all  else  man  does  well  to  hold  the  important 
matter  back  to  the  last.  In  his  religion  alone 
Christian  must  be  otherwise.  Here  he  must  be 
like  the  notice  which  at  once  announces  itself  that 
it  is  a  Notice. 

In  the  Kingdom  there  are  things  permitted, 
things  forbidden,  things  tolerated;    the  last,  like 
smoking  on  the  cars:    only  on  the  rear  seats. 

Grace  at  meat  may  easily  become  a  cordial. 

I  used  to  wonder  at  the  striking  resemblance 
of  some  of  the  false  religions  to  the  true,  until  I 
learned  that  the  difference  between  the  goose  and 
the  swan  is  only  a  few  inches  of  neck. 



Why  are  the  dead  raised  no  more  ?  Presumption 
says,  Because  the  dead  do  not  rise.  Meekness 
suggests,  Because  there  is  no  more  faith  to  raise 
the  dead  with.  The  One  who  alone  could  say, 
I  am  the  Resurrection  and  the  Life,  explains,  If 
they  believe  not  Moses  and  the  prophets,  neither 
will  they  believe  though  one  rose  from  the  dead. 

The  Bible  must  be  read  through  at  least  twice : 
first  with  eyes  shut,  then  with  eyes  open. 

No  binding  to  the  Bible  is  lasting  that  is  not 
sewn  together  with  scarlet  thread. 

Unitarianism  is  the  religion  of  topheaviness  par 

Which  is  true,  optimism  or  pessimism?  It  is  a 
mark  of  the  heavenliness  of  the  religion  of  Christ 
that,  while  in  the  world  one  must  be  adherent  of 
either,  Christian  must  adhere  to  neither  at  any 
time,  to  both  at  all  times. 

Religion  is  man  forcing  himself  upon  God, 
Christianity  is  God  implanting  himself  in  man. 

Christianity   does   indeed   demand   from   men 
belief  in  its  truths;    but  it  is  content  for  a  while 
with  only  asking  of  men  doubt  of  the  grounds  for 
their  unbelief. 



Religion,  if  it  make  men  no  better  than  it  finds 
them  leaves  them  worse. 

The  blood  of  Christ  cleanses  if  accepted;  stains, 
if  rejected. 

Heaven  is  where'er  there  is  rest  from  earth 
with  God. 

Heaven  has  only  one  door,  though  many  gates. 
The  believer  errs  in  limiting  the  number  of  the 
gates ;  the  unbeliever,  in  multiplying  the  number  of 
the  doors. 

Folk  think  Sunday  the  day  for  religion.    Sunday 
is  indeed  the  day  for  worship.    It  is  the  other  six 
that  are  for  religion. 

Folk  think  the  object  of  the  thought  of  heaven 
is  to  improve  earth  for  us.     But  the  thought  of 
heaven  is  meant  to  improve  the  earth  for  others 
and  to  spoil  it  for  ourselves. 

In  the  Kingdom  all  is  God  except  man.    In  the 
world  all  is  God  except  God  Himself. 

The    strings    which    pull   men    earthward    are 
stronger  than  the  ropes  which  tie  them  heaven- 



The  paper  entering  the  press  white,  but  leaving 
it  black,  to  begin  its  usefulness  only  then — sad 
symbol  of  man's  career. 


Paradise  begins  only  in  the  next  life;  hell  may 
begin  already  in  this. 


Of  him  who  has  once  been  in  the  heavenlies  only 
the  risen  baloon  is  apt  type;  can  return  to  earth 
again  only  with  a  collapse. 


In  the  world  when  one  thinks  he  can  do  much 
he  can  at  least  do  something.  In  the  Kingdom 
one  can  only  then  accomplish  something  when  he 
feels  that  of  himself  he  can  do  nothing. 

It  is  a  mark  of  truth  that  Jesus  cries  "Thy  will 
be  done!"  before  "My  God,  my  God,  why  hast 
Thou  forsaken  me?"     Invention  would  have  re- 
versed the  cries. 


Christianity  does  not  change  night  into  day, 
but  it  does  dispel  the  clouds  and  restores  the  stars. 

Black  we  all  are ;  only  some  are  bleached  blacks. 



Everyone  begins  with  what  God  has  made  him ; 
he  ends  with  what  he  makes  himself. 

In  his  anchor  as  in  all  else  Christian  is  the  op- 
posite of  the  world.     The  anchor  of  his  hope  is 
upward,  not  downward. 


The  heavenly  journey  is  measured  not  by  the 
number  of  miles  travelled,  but  by  the  height  of 
the  mountains  climbed. 


The  conditional,  the  optative  mood,  are  frequent 
in  the  Bible,  but  not  the  doubtful  tenses. 


Education  furnishes  only  a  sword,  which  is, 
however,  two-edged.  Legislation  only  clips  the 
beast's  claws,  but  leaves  it  still  wild.  Morality 
furnishes  clean  garments,  but  these  may  still 
cover  a  foul  heart.  Christianity  alone  cleanses 
the  heart,  tames  the  beast  and  wields  safely  the 


Both  Arion  of  Herodotus  and  Jonah  of  the 
Bible  are  thrown  into  the  sea;  but  Arion  is  saved 
on  a  dolphin's  back;  Jonah,  out  of  the  fish's  belly. 
The  dolphin's  back  is  the  mark  of  fiction;  the 
fish's  belly  the  mark  of  truth.  Invention  must 
furnish  a  likely  means  of  escape.  Truth  can  afford 
to  furnish  the  farthest  from  likely. 



Analogy  and  simile  are  the  most  pleasing  kind 
of  writing,  because  Nature  itself  is  only  a  type, 
and  God  speaks  chiefly  through  symbols. 

Between  heaven  and  hell  is  a  gulf  that  cannot 
be  bridged ;  but  on  earth  they  may  be  so  near  as  to 


The  modern  disease  is  megalo-Kephalitis ; 
a  classic  Greek,  truly  orthodox  medical  term: 
in  English,  big-headedness;  in  Yankee  speech 
(which  seldom  fails  to  hit  the  nail  on  the  head, 
though  often  splitting  the  board  at  the  same 
time)  swelled  head.  The  disease  began  articu- 
lately enough  in  the  mild,  suave,  velvet-covered 
Channing,  but  he  merely  chattered,  though  at 
times  he  also  chirped,  of  the — Dignity  of  Man. 
In  Emerson,  however,  this  dignity  of  man  began 
to  pipe  itself  out,  with  an  occasional  deep, 
hollow  basso  accompaniment,  as  the  Divinity 
of  Man.  Both  Channing  and  Emerson,  however, 
had  still  a  goodly  number  of  quarts  of  honest 
Gospel  blood  in  them;  generations  of  Christ  in 
them  still  keeping  down  the  self-glorification 
that  would  fain  burst  to  the  surface  of  even  these. 
Whitman  had  no  such  restraint.  His  was  other 
blood  than  theirs.  Channing  and  Emerson  had 
at  least  aristocratic,  blue  blood  in  their  veins, 
pulsating  therein  rather  swiftly,  with  some  sort 
of  noble  tumultuousness.  Not  so  Whitman. 
His  was  the  skimmed  blood,  the  viscuous  gravy 
blood;  the  unadulterated  plebeian,  democratic, 
vulgar  blood,  with  corpuscles  of  brick  red,  and 
Pittsburg-fog-gray,  but  without  a  speck  of  blue 

Channing  and  Emerson  had  at  least  a  certain 


jungle  dignity  and  beauty  about  them;  and  like 
the  whole  family  of  felines  are  ever  interesting 
to  behold  in  their  moments  of  peace,  as  long  as 
they  display  no  mien  of  transforming  their  human 
beholders  into  that  much  steak  and  chop  for 
feline  supper.  On  occasion  the  frail  Channing  and 
gentle  Emerson  could  roar,  but  their  roar  had  at 
least   some   awe   therein.     But   Whitman   .    .    . 

Kant's  Critique  of  Pure  Reason  is  justly  praised 
as  a  noble  piece  of  architecture,  a  kind  of  cathedral 
of  Divisions,  subdivisions,  sections,  paragraphs, 
and  parentheses,  of  diverse  dimensions  and 
statures — if  all  this  were  only  a  peptic  piece  of 
utility.  If  the  ailment  of  Society,  butterflydom, 
is  that  it  lacks  seriousness,  the  ailment  of  me- 
taphysical owldom  is  that  it  takes  itself  with 
altogether  too  much  seriousness.  And  here  as 
elsewhere  extremes  meet.  If  the  frivolous  remind 
one  of  the  antics  of  monkeys,  metaphysicians  can 
only  remind  us  of  circus — gymnasts.  But  gym- 
nastics, however  startling  its  evolutions,  are 
after  all  only  antics ;  and  the  metaphysics  of  even 
a  Kant  are  only  so  many  intellectual  antics. 
Kant,  however,  was  still  sober,  from  a  goodly 
remnant  in  him  of  the  sense  of  religion;  and  the 
insanity  of  soul,  is  in  him  only  embryonic.  But 
what  is  embryonic  in  Kant  becomes  fullfledged 
in  his  diverse  intellectual  offspring  of  Schelling 
and  Hegel,  Schopenhauer  and  Hartmann  and 
Spencer  and  James.  The  graceful  play  of  the 
kitten  in  Kant  becomes  the  capering  antics  of 
the  goat  in  his  successors.  But,  whether  harmless 
kitten  or  china-smashing  bull,   the   net   sum   of 


the  performance  of  either  is — emptiness.  And 
life  is  in  nowise  meant  to  be  kept  empty  with 
metaphysical    windbag    fulnesses   .    .    . 

Philosophy  has  surely  its  use,  as  in  fact  every- 
thing conceivable  has.  The  saddest  of  all 
emptinesses,  the  freshly  dug  hole  in  the  ground, 
with  the  waiting  casket  for  its  fulfilment,  has  at 
least  the  use  of  supplying  the  undertaker  with  his 
porridge  and  ale.  But  this  does  not  make  grave 
digging  a  desirability  in  the  life  of  man.  Nay, 
rightly  looked  at  Gehenna  itself  has  its  use  .  .  . 
And  metaphysics,  which  has  its  origin  in  some  one 
having  made  a  hole  in  heaven  shortly  after  that 
episode  of  the  Tree  of  Knowledge,  has  simply  ever 
since  had  for  its  business  the  filling  in  of  said  hole 
in  the  heavens,  with  occasional  making  of  new 
ones,  when  it  is  seen  that  the  old  ones  cannot  be 
filled  in.  Philosophy  has  indeed  high  pretension, 
its  ultimate  goal,  on  paper,  is  to  be  a  sort  of  Science 
of  Science,  the  Theory  of  Theory;  but  in  practice 
nearly  the  whole  of  Philosophy  and  by  far  the 
largest  part  of  Science,  have  become  a  kind  of 
imperial  eagle  with  two  heads ;  both  supported  by 
the  same  body — illegitimate  curiosity:  the  one 
peeping  uselessly  into  Universe  Invisible,  the 
other   prying   needlessly   into    Universe   Visible. 

So-called  Science  is  a  body  without  a  head; 
philosophy  is  a  head  without  a  body;  the  one 
has  feet  of  gold  without  a  head  of  even  clay;  the 
other  is  a  head  of  brass  without  feet  even  of  iron. 
But  the  combination  of  the  two  far  from  being  a 
head  of  brass  over  feet  of  gold  is,  as  in  Spencer's 


case  only  a  torso;  head  gone,  arms  gone,  feet  gone. 
All  attempts  at  the  Scriptural  Image  of  a  head 
of  gold  o'er  a  trunk  of  silver  on  feet  of  iron  by 
science  and  philosophy  are  vain;  since  this 
image  is  molten  only  in  the  crucible  of  Christ. 


Philosophy  has  so  far  been  only  a  vast  pyramid 
upside  down:  and  the  slightest  breeze  blows  it  o'er. 
It  has  so  far  been  only  a  series  of  card  houses 
which  fall  first  one  against  another,  and  then  all 
together  as  soon  as  even  one  is  seriously  touched. 
Aristotle  leans  on  Plato,  Abelard  on  Aristotle, 
Leibnitz  on  Abelard,  Kant  leans  on  Descartes, 
Schopenhauer  on  Kant,  Dr.  Abbot  on  the  rest; 
when  lo,  touch  at  one  end,  touch  at  other  end, 
touch  at  middle,  touch  anywhere  with  the  mere 
tip  of  Reality's  finger,  and  forthwith  as  sys- 
tems they  collapse  with  the  speed  of  inflated 
industrial  stocks  on  a  Black  Friday   .    .    . 


Metaphysics  is  like  climbing  of  Alps  or  chasing 
the  North  Pole.  If  the  risk  of  life  and  limb  is 
incurred  for  profitable  scientific  result,  it  is  indeed 
heroic.  But  if  undertaken  from,  sheer  love  of 
adventure,  from  sheer  Pandoraness,  from  sheer 
desire  to  do  what  none  else  have  done  before  and 
thus  get  a  name  for  oneself,  it  is  but  a  vain  thing,  a 
dead  thing. 

Now  much  of  the  theology  of  the  day,  nearly  all 
of  the  metaphysics,  and  not  a  little  of  its  science 
is  wholly  of  the  latter,  ignoble  sort. 



Savage  is  hardly  my  attitude  toward  Meta- 
physics. As  far  back  as  my  Sophomore  year, 
I  was  already  Vice-President  (who  veritably 
vice-presided)  of  the  Harvard  Philosophical  Club. 
And  for  many  succeeding  years  I  was  a  faithful 
attendant  upon  the  lectures  of  America's  might- 
iest metaphysician  delivered  all  to  myself,  at 
times  far  into  the  wee  hours  of  morn,  going  over 
the  length  and  breadth  of  its  vast  domain;  from 
the  isingness  of  being  to  the  finalities  of  the  finities, 
and  even  to  the  infinitudes  of  the  Infinities,  and 
the  Everlastingnesses  of  the  Eternities.  So  that 
in  the  inextinguishable  fraternity  of  philosophers 
I  am  in  nowise  a  first  year  student,  rather  a  sort 
of  adept  of  the  thirty  and  third  degree.  Speaking 
thus  from  the  inside  I  solemnly  assure  you,  my 
friend,  that  Metaphysics  is  essentially  the  science 
of  putting  questions  which  the  healthy  do  not  ask, 
the  wise  do  not  take  up,  and  the  metaphysicians 
themselves,  after  elaborately  putting  them,  do  not 
answer.  Thus  where  the  first  plain  sick  man  you 
meet  knows  that  pain  is  an  evil,  the  healthy  meta- 
physician discusses  the  question,  What  is  Evil? 
Where  the  first  plain  man  you  meet  tells  you 
that  if  he  is  useful  it  is  reason  enough  for  his 
being  here,  the  metaphysician  elaborately  dis- 
cusses the  question,  wherefore  is  man  here  at  all? 

At  its  best  philosophy  seeks  to  establish 
by  reason  what  is  already  known  from  Revela- 
tion: God,  Immortality,  Duty.  It  thus  seeks 
to  swim  the  Mississippi  at  the  very  spot  where  a 
bridge  already  is.     But  philosophy  is  seldom  thus 


at  its  best.  Its  ordinary  business  is  to  give  new 
names,  where  science  gives  new  facts;  while 
religion  proves  itself  ever  sufficient  by  putting  the 
new  facts,  where  they  belong,  under  the  old  names. 
Metaphysicians  have  thus  honestly  tried  to  re- 
move some  dust,  they  have  raised  new  clouds. 
And  how  little  of  genuine  substance  is  to  be 
found  therein  is  best  seen  from  this:  The  utter 
impotence  of  Philosophy  with  its  huge  apparatus 
in  the  presence  of  a  single  sorrow — the  one  moment 
in  life  where  it  could  be  of  utmost  use,  were  any 
use  at  all  therein.  ' 'Philosophy — guide  of  Life," 
is  its  claim.  But  Philosophy  is  ever  triumphing 
over  only  future,  not  present  ills.  Where  religion 
supports  the  man,  his  philosophy  has  ever  to  be 
supported  by  the  man.  At  the  pangs  of  childbirth 
philosophy  is  silent,  at  the  grave  it  is  dumb.  In 
the  presence  of  sin,  sickness,  of  the  success  of  the 
wicked,  the  failure  of  the  righteous,  in  the  pres- 
ence in  short,  of  every  true  problem  of  Life, 
Philosophy  ever  hobbles  bandaged  about  with 
all  manner  of  verbiage.  And  if  perchance  a 
crumb  is  handed  out  at  last  by  it,  and  a  wordlet  of 
Life  does  escape  its  lips,  it  is  invariably  found  that 
these  come  not  from  its  own  store — it  has  none — 
but  were  taken  from  the  ever  abundant  store-house 
of — Religion   .    .    . 

Metaphysicians  are  thus  to  the  soul  what  flies 
are  to  summer;  they  buzz  much,  they  annoy  much, 
but  they  disappear  with  the  cold.  At  the  first 
real,  deep  sorrow,  the  most  enamoured  meta- 
physician puffs  away  his  metaphysics  like  so  many 
bubbles,  if  like  Gulliver  of  old,  he  has  not  yet 
been  irremediably  laid  low  by  the  innumerable 
fine  threads  wound  about  him  by  the  pigmies   .    . 




My  whole  quarrel  with  Philosophy  and  Meta- 
physics is  here:  The  one  thing  Truth  Incarnate 
came  to  bestow  upon  man  is  the  restored  ap- 
proach to  the  bosom  of  God  where  he  at  last  may 
once  more — rest.  "Come  unto  me,  all  ye  that 
labor  and  are  heavy-laden,  and  I  will  give  you — 
rest.  Learn  from  me,  and  ye  shall  find — rest 
unto  your  souls,"  is  still  the  call  of  the  ascended 
Christ,  as  in  the  days  of  yore  it  was  the  call  of  the 
descended  Christ.  But  our  modern  activities 
based  at  bottom  on  false  metaphysics  are  of  the 
tumultuous,  restless  sort.  And  it  has  become 
the  fashionable  disease  of  men  as  well  as  of  women 
to  be  so  busy  with  their  multitudinous  activities 
as  to  leave  hardly  time  for  even  the  ordinary 
humanities.  And  the  cause  thereof  is  only  one: 
men  have  weaned  themselves  from  the  bosom  of 
God  where  the  soul  of  man  belongs  as  naturally 
as  the  babe  at  its  mother's  breast.  And  meta- 
physics is  merely  the  indulgence  of  the  soul  of  man 
in  the  for  the  moment  rather  intoxicating  rest- 
lessness  . 

Not  in  vain  are  the  birds  of  the  air,  specially 
those  of  the  seaside,  type  of  the  Adversary's  host. 
Behold  them  restless:  most  of  the  while  on  the 
wing:  fly,  fly,  fly.  Mostly  too  with  wings  large, 
body  but  little,  feet  scarcely  visible:  sailing,  sail- 
ing, sailing;  circling,  circling,  circling,  hardly  ever 
seen  resting.  True  emblem  this  of  business 
and  society  which  is  dissipation  with  the  crowd; 
and  science  and  philosophy,  which  is  dissipation 
apart  from  the  crowd;  but  with  the  crowd  or 
without  the  crowd,  it  is  still  dissipation,  the  dissi- 
pation of  restlessness. 



As  I  cross  Harvard  Bridge  betwixt  Boston 
and  Cambridge,  and  watch  the  gull  in  its  flight 
over  the  waters,  methinks  I  see  philosophy  in  its 
white  garment,  with  only  the  tip  of  its  wings 
just  blackish  ...  It  soars  and  circles;  and 
circles  and  soars;  now  and  then  it  even  dives,  but 
it  is  ever  aimless,  it  ever  remains  accomplishing 
naught,  but  catching  some  poor  unwary  fish. 


The  presence  of  the  so-called  Science  of  Ethics 
betokens  the  decay  of  Integrity;  since  Ethics  has 
become  the  science  of  proving  that  the  association 
can  do  with  a  clear  conscience  what  the  individual 
can  do  with  only  a  guilty  one.  The  presence  of 
the  so-called  Science  of  Political  Economy  be- 
tokens the  decay  of  Love ;  since  Political  Economy 
is  essentially  the  Science  of  making  Nature  the 
scapegoat  of  man's  selfishness.  The  abundance 
of  so-called  Fiction  in  Letters  and  Art  betokens  the 
decay  of  Truth;  since  the  working  of  Fiction  is 
only  an  unblushing  confession  that  one  is  lying; 
so  likewise  the  presence  of  Metaphysics  only 
betokens  the  decay  of  true  reverence  and  worship. 

Religion  draws  men;  literature  cattle;  science, 
freight;  philosophy,  empty  cars. 

Religion  rounds  out  the  man;  literature  broad- 
ens him;  science  lengthens  him;  philosophy  flat- 
tens him. 



Religion  smooths  out  the  wrinkles;  science 
discovers  them;  literature  describes  them;  phi- 
losophy looks  at  them. 

To  the  devout  soul  the  world  is  a  mirror  to 
reflect  the  glory  of  God  in ;  to  the  artist  the  world 
is  a  park — a  place  to  walk  in;  to  the  scientist  the 
world  is  a  pond- — a  place  to  fish  in;  to  the  meta- 
physician the  world  is  a  bed — a  place  to  dream  in. 

Religion  ever  furnishes  a  blanket  adapted  to  the 
bed,  and  covers  the  whole  man,  while  both  science 
and  philosophy  furnish  blankets  that  are  too 
short.  Science  covers  the  feet,  and  leaves  the 
head  to  shift  for  itself ;  philosophy  pulls  it  over  the 
head,  and  leaves  the  feet  to  flounder  for  them- 


Religion  at  last  furnishes  the  house  within  and 
without,  which  science  and  philosophy  start  to 
build.  But  science  gets  at  least  as  far  as  the  roof. 
Philosophy  stops  at  the  staging. 

Science  is  a  kind  of  magician's  borrowed  hat 
from  which  he  produces  all  at  once  yards  of  reel- 
ing tape,  boxes  of  candy  and  a  live  duck.  Meta- 
physics picks  up  all  these  things  and  frantically 
endeavors  to  put  them  all  under  one  hat. 

Two  men  are  in  equal  darkness:  who  dives  be- 
yond his  depth,   who  soars  beyond  his  height. 


The  modern  scientist  is  apt  to  do  the  one;  the 
metaphysicians  of  all  ages  have  been  doing  the 


Said  General  Sherman:  The  only  good  Indian 
is  the  dead  Indian ;  I  venture  to  say :  Even  the  best 
philosophy  is  a  dead  philosophy.  For  philosophy 
is  essentially  a  business  of  furnishing  grounds  for 
things  that  either  cannot  or  need  not  stand  there- 


Metaphysicians  are  essentially  folk,  who  like 
the  sages  of  the  East,  meditate  in  the  Jungle  on 
the  Immensities  and  Eternities  by  fixing  their  eyes 
for  days  and  weeks  on  the  tip  of  their' — -nose. 
And  like  these  Sages  they  seldom  get  farther  than 
the  tips  of  their  noses.  But  whether  they  get  far- 
ther or  not,  the  result  is  ever  cross-eyedness  for 
aye   .    .    . 


Metaphysics  is  essentially  a  business  of  furnish- 
ing either  poor  reasons  for  facts  which  no  one 
disputes,  or  still  poorer  reasons  for  disputing 
what  every  one  else  knows  to  be  indisputable. 

Philosophy,  like  drinking,  smoking,  card- 
playing,  theatre  going,  dancing,  is  in  nowise 
forbid  in  the  Book  of  God,  being  of  itself  neither 
right  nor  wrong.  But  the  whole  tendency  of  these 
with  all  their  surroundings  is  downward;  and  as 
such  is  ever  deadly.  And  so  with  speculation, 
metaphysics.  Philosophy — its  whole  tendency 
is  never  upward,  always  downward.  Occupation 
therewith  is  a  most  gentle  incline  asylumward, 


a  sober,  solemn  search  after  perpetual  motion  in 
the  region  of  spirit.  And  every  system  of 
philosophy  is  thus  like  the  ever  recurring  dis- 
covery of  perpetual  motion,  which  works  admir- 
ably on  paper,  but  fails  wretchedly  with  the  real 
wood  or  brass   .    .    . 


After  all  has  been  said,  it  is  not  I  that  declare 
Philosophy  and  Religion  to  be  at  eternal  war. 
That  great  arch-enemy  of  God,  Schopenhauer,  has 
done  it  before  me.     Says  he: 

"Positive  Religion  usurps  the  throne  that 
belongs  to  Philosophy.  Philosophers  will  therefore 
make  war  against  her."  What  makes  Schopen- 
hauer the  great  philosopher  is  that  he  of  all 
philosophers  recognized  the  eternal  conflict,  and 
unflinchingly  faced  it   .    .    . 

A  theory  is  to  facts  what  the  string  is  to  the 
pearls:  good  only  to  hold  them  together.     The 
folly   of   all   system-makers   is   the   gathering   of 
pearls  for  the  sake  of  the  string. 

Of  course  I  believe  in  Science,  which  is  simply 
a  high-sounding  name  for — Knowledge.  Only  it 
must  be  Knowledge,  not  guessage.  The  "Science" 
that  influences  the  thought  of  the  day  is  not 
Science  at  all,  it  is  only  the  guesses  concerning 
things  they  do  not  know  by  the  men  who  are 
accepted  as  authorities  in  Science  because  of 
the  things  they  really  do  know.  But  the  mere 
guesses  of  folk,  of  even  scientific  folk,  are  after 
all  not  yet  knowings,  they  are  still  mere  guessings. 



Modern  philosophers  consist  of  two  distinct 
species  of  foxdom:  the  tailless  and  the  betailed. 
Who  have  lost  their  own  tails  would  fain  persuade 
the  rest  that  taillessness  is  the  eternal  law  of  all 
respectable  foxdom;  and  that  those  who  are  still 
possessed  of  this  token  of  uncompleted  evolution 
had  best  forthwith  divest  themselves  thereof  by 
patent  chopper  or  otherwise.  The  betailed  ones, 
however,  stoutly  maintain  that  foxdom  minus 
rear-bushiness  is  a  gross  sin  against  the  eternal 
spirit  of  truth;  and  that  to  apply  these  surgics 
to  fox's  rear  with  or  without  anesthetics  might 
seriously  derange  the  now  established  Kosmos. 
But  what  is  true,  they  go  on  to  affirm,  is:  that 
though  grapes  are  indeed  luscious,  and  ripe  enough 
to  be  eaten,  they  are  in  relation  to  foxdom  forever 
sour,  since  they  are  being  so  high,  and  beyond  the 
reach  of  even  tailful  foxdom   .    .    . 

When  Harvard  Philosopher  No.  i.  tells  me 
that  Truth  is  only  relative,  temporal,  evanescent, 
and  can  in  nowise  be  known,  even  if  there  be  such 
a  thing  as  Truth,  which  latter  fact  is  as  yet  not 
established,  at  least  at  Harvard,  I  say:  Friend,  I 
pity  thee  from  the  bottom  of  my  heart;  for  thou 
art  a  liar  at  heart;  thou  has  lost  thy  heart  as  a 
man,  and  thy  tail  as  a  fox;  and  now  thou  wouldst 
fain  persuade  the  rest  that  they  too  had  best  part 
with  their  tails   ... 


When  Harvard  Philosopher  No.  2.  tells  me  that 
Duty  is  a  relative  term,  a  kind  of  elastic  rubber 
band,  with  an  ill  smell  thereto  when  thrown  into 


the  fire;  that  the  sole  "duty"  that  is  at  all  clear  in 
life  is  to  meditate  on  the  exposition  of  the  Dutiless- 
ness  of  Duty — I  say  again:  I  detest,  0  philosopher, 
thy  philosophy  from  the  bottom  of  my  heart; 
thou  art  a  thief  to  thy  very  bone,  thou  hast  indeed 
still  thy  tail;  and  the  luscious  grapes  are  still 
hanging  above  thee ;  but .  they  are  too  high  for 
thine  elastic  conscience,  and  they  remain  for 
thee — sour  grapes   .    .    . 

Civilization  polishes  the  savage  into  a  barbarian. 
Religion  shapes  him  into  a  man. 

Culture  creates  many  desires;  religion,  only  one 

Science   needs   religion   as    the   bicycle   needs 
the  man:  which  without  him  cannot  even  stand; 
with  him  not  only  runs  itself,  but  even  carries 
the  rider  along. 


Philosophy  would  fain  vie  with  religion  in 
alleviating  the  ills  of  men.  But  religion  furnishes 
a  tonic;  philosophy,  hardly  even  a  plaster. 

Education  lengthens  the  man,  culture  broadens 
him;  experience  colors  him,  religion  ripens  him. 


Philosophy  seeks  for  what  is  truth.  Religion 
finds  Him  who  is  the  Truth. 



I  have  a  clock  which  instead  of  keeping  time 
for  me  obliges  me  to  keep  time  for  it — sad  ex- 
ample of  the  help  so  far  given  by  science  to 

The  comet — true  type  of  the  metaphysician: 
dragging  a  long  nebulous  tail  behind  a  solid  but 
slight  head. 

The  value  of  science  is  seldom  disputable,  its 
price  often  is. 

The  metaphysician  is  like  the  moth:   hovers 
round  the  light,  but  only  to  be  scorched  therein. 


Two  men  have  no  need  of  philosophy ;  who  has 
no  leisure  for  it,  and  who  has. 

The  light  given  by  science  is  like  that  of  the 
lantern:  may  still  leave  its  bearer  in  the  shade. 


Both  Nature  and  Creation  are  each  a  whole. 
But  Creation  can  always  be  seen  as  a  part. 
Nature  is  at  best  beholden  only  as  a  fragment. 

I  used  to  have  great  respect  for  all  manner  of 
science  until  I  found  that  my  business  with  the 
Chinaman  is  to  get  my  linen  clean,  not  to  watch 
him  handling  it  in  the  washtub. 



Metaphysics  transgress  against  the  great  law 
of    conduct   which   is:    Nothing    too-  exact — the  \ 
great  rule  of  art,  of  life. 

All  other  intoxications  reveal  the  true  man. 
Metaphysics  alone  chokes  the  true  man. 

The    metaphysician    seeks    to    discover    the 
meaning  of  life.     Poor  soul:  he  lost  it  long,  long 

The  metaphysician  like  the  rest  of  men  has 
also  his  pillar  of  fire  to  lead  him  through  the 
desert,  but  he  speedily  converts  it  into  an  ignus 
fatuus   .    .    . 

Piety  comes  seldom  from  theology;  goodness, 
rarely  through  ethics;  and  knowledge  alas!  not 
yet  always  from  science. 

Metaphysicians  like  volcanoes  throw  up  a  great 
deal  of  smoke  and  stones,  only  they  are  not  so 

The  trouble  with  metaphysics  is :  though  aspir- 
ing to  be  winged  biped,  it  is  only  corner  sexaped. 

A  system  of  philosophy  is  a  pyramid    upside 
down :  a  vast  structure  built  upon  a  point.     Hence 
a  little  wind  blows  it  down. 



A  system  is  for  thought  what  the  horn  is  for 
the  powder.     It  keeps  it  well — confined. 


Perhaps  the  best  use  of  a  system  is  that  of  the 
band  around  the  garments  when  carried  about: 
good  only  to  hold  them  together  when  they  are  not 
to  be  displayed. 


A  theory  is  to  fact  what  the  string    is  to  the 
pearls;    good    only   for   holding    them    together. 
The  folly  of  all  system-making  is  the  gathering 
of  pearls  for  the  sake  of  the  string. 

When  folk  speak  of  not  accepting  things 
"contrary  to  reason,"  —as  if  there  were  a  universal 
reason  laid  up  somewhere  like  the  standard  yard 
or  pound  at  Washington — they  mean  their  own 
reason:  but  what  appears  wholly  unreasonable 
to  one  appears  most  reasonable  to  another  who  has 
had  wider  experience.  To  speak,  therefore 
of  rejecting  some  things  as  "contrary  to  reason," 
is  generally  to  confess  one's  own  ignorance  in  such 
matters;  and  there  is  an  educated  ignorance  as 
well  as  an  uneducated  ignorance;  only  unedu- 
cated ignorance  believes  too  much;  educated 
ignorance  believes  too  little. 

It  is  blessedly  true  that  reason  is  supreme,  only 
it  must  not  be  your  reason. 


Revelation  is  to  reason  what  the  telescope  is 
to  sight:  an  aid,  not  a  substitute. 



Only  that  is  true  science  which  increases  not 
my  doubts  but  my  faith. 

Who  writes  out  his  system  only  exposes  it  to 
argument.     Who  lives  it  out  can  prove  it. 

Philosophy  is  to  religion  what  tissue  paper  is  to 


It  needs  much  knowledge  to  doubt  intelligently, 
and  as  much  to  believe  intelligently. 

Who  doubts  may  be  using  a  broom  against  the 
dust.     Who  remains  a  doubter  stays  in  the  dust. 


The  highest  attainment  of  reason  is  to  know 
not  its  competence  but  its  incompetence. 


The  Gossip:  "Just  think,  I  did  not  of  course 
see  the  sun  last  night,  but  I  did  see  the  moon 
this  morning." 

The  Scientist:  "It  is  a  matter,  friends,  of  uni- 
versal experience  that  the  sun  is  never  seen  by 
night, — but  the  moon  is  sometimes  seen  by  day. 
It  thus  constitutes  a  law  of  nature." 

The  Philosopher:  "It  is,  ladies  and  gentlemen, 
an  a  priori  law  of  the  mind  that  it  shall  not  per- 
ceive the  sun  by  night,  but  may  perceive  the 
moon  by  day." 

The  Fool:  "Well,  what  of  it,  anyhow?"  And 
the  fool  is  not  the  foolishest  of  the  four. 



To  give  out  most  heat  the  soul  like  the  stove 
must  have  its  upper  door  shut. 

The  spider  in  the  garret  in  the  delusion  that  he 
is  a  winged  eagle    soaring    heavenward — this  is 
the  metaphysician. 


The  only  way  to  solve  the  problem  of  life  is  to 
live  it.     Metaphysicians  only  guess  at  it. 

Credulity  slays  its  thousands;  unbelief,  its  ten 


Unbelief  is  at  bottom  only  ignorance,  but  ignor- 
ance of  one's  own  ignorance. 

The  difference  between  false  science  and  true: 
a  Darwin  ignores  revelation;  a  Newton  writes  a 
Commentary  on  Revelation. 

The  difference  between  all  false  teaching  and 
the  true  is  in  one  word:  Philosophy  says,  Stand! 
Science  (so-called)  says,  Go!  False  Religion  says, 
Do!  Christ  alone  makes  all  these  possible  by 
prefacing  them  with,  Come! 

Reason  alone  is  seldom  content  with  fact  alone, 
it  seeks  also  the  reason  for  that  fact.     And  it  is 
this  that  makes  mere  reason  often  so  unreasonable. 



The  light  given  by  Science  is  like  that  of  the 
lantern,  which  may  still  leave  its  bearer  in  the 


Metaphysics  is  the  art  of  bringing  illegitimate 
offspring  to  birth  with  things. 

The  metaphysician  is  a  man  who  having  through 
trifling  lost  the  meaning  of  life  sets  about  in  all 
seriousness  to  account  for  life. 

Every  system  of  philosophy  is  like  the  ever- 
recurring  discovery  of  perpetual  motion:    works 
well  enough  on — paper. 

Both  Metaphysics  and  Science  have  legitimate 
fences  around  them.     Science  breaks  them  down 
and  finds  itself  lost:     Metaphysics  vaults  over 
them  and  is  caught  hanging  in  the  air. 

There  are  two  kinds  of  superstition:    of  faith, 
of  unbelief.    Faith  is  at  times  superstitious  as  to 
incidentals ;  unbelief  is  always  superstitious  as  to 


Credulity  believes  without  evidence;  faith 
knows  that  the  evidence  is  forthcoming.  Cre- 
dulity only  believes  with  insufficient  reasons; 
faith  trusts  for  sufficient  reasons. 



Both  faith  and  doubt  give  reasons  for  them- 
selves ;  but  faith  gives  the  reasons  it  found  before 
believing;  doubt  gives  those  it  finds  after  doubt- 


The  metaphysician  starts  out  with  questioning 
what  little  knowledge  he  has.  He  ends  with  losing 
it  altogether. 


The  wise  man  is  concerned  with  the  fact  that 
the  Universe  is  administered;  the  philosopher, 
with  whether  it  is  administered;  the  fool,  with 
how  it  might  be  administered.  And  here  for  once 
the  fool  is  only  as  foolish  as  the  philosopher. 

Idolators    and    metaphysicians    have    this    in 
common :    the  God  of  both  is  man  made ;  but  the 
idolator's  God  is  an  ideal;    the  metaphysician's 
is  only  an  idea. 

The  metaphysician  suffers  from  having  more 
wing  to  him  than  body. 

The  metaphysician  suffers  from  a  peculiar  mis- 
fortune:    his  pillar  of  fire  becomes  for  him  an 
ignis  fatuus. 




Modern  Art,  Science  and  Letters  have  become 
largely  a  habit  of  using  volcanoes  for  boiling  eggs 
and  roasting  potatoes,  and  earthquakes  for  shak- 
ing out  mice. 


The  temper  of  Modern  Science  is :  If  you  study 
God's  ways  you  are  only  a  mystic.  If  you  study 
Man's  Spirit,  you  are  a  metaphysician.  If,  how- 
ever, you  study  man's  flesh,  you  are  already  a 
physiologist.  But  if  you  study  worms  and  bugs 
out-of-doors,  and  ill-smelling  gases  indoors,  you 
are  true  scientist  .  .   . 


Modern  Science  consists  of  a  few  newly-dis- 
covered facts  with  many  exploded  theories :  the 
theories  being  largely  deemed  to  be  the  Science. 


Nature  is  the  mirror  of  God.  The  fundamental 
error  of  Modern  Science  is  in  forgetting  that  mir- 
rors are  not  for  the  blind. 

Modern  Science  is  afflicted  with  the  cataract  of 
the  eyes,  and  now  it  expounds  the  eclipse  of  Faith. 

Of  the  numerous  marvels   of   the   Twentieth 
Century,  not  the  least  is  the  ease  with  which  folk 

THE    MODERNS  283 

persuade  men,  after  putting  out  their  own  eyes, 
that  now  they  can  help  men  to  see  all  the  better. 


The  men  of  Babel  strove  to  climb  heaven  by 
means  of  a  tower;  the  men  of  to-day  are  scaling 
the  heavens  with  telescope  and  spectroscope. 
Prometheus  stole  fire  from  heaven  by  mere  cun- 
ning; the  men  of  to-day  play  with  the  fire  from 
heaven  in  their  laboratories  by  sheer  wit.  The 
men  of  Babel  met  with  confusion  of  tongues  and 
were  scattered  abroad.  Prometheus  was  given  an 
eagle  to  tear  his  liver,  after  being  chained  to  a 
rock.  The  men  of  to-day  are  meeting  not  only 
with  confusion  of  tongues,  but  also  with  confusion 
of  head  and  heart ;  they  are  not  scattered  abroad ; 
they  are  left  where  they  are,  and  not  even  chained. 
But  their  vitals  are  left  to  be  eaten  whether  abroad 
or  at  home  .  .  . 


Modern  Science  is  to  the  Soul  what  the  mor- 
ganatic wife  is  to  royalty;  offspring  legitimate 
enough,  but  cannot  be  crowned. 

The  storm  in  the  city  begins  with  dust  and  ends 
with  mud,  the  rain  having  gone  between.    Modern 
Science  begins  with  mud  and  ends  with  dust, 
leaving  the  man  between. 


Modern  Scientific  men  are  apt  to  be  like  the 
gaspipe:  which  conveys  illumination,  but  ceases 
not  thereby  to  be  dark  itself. 




Modern  Art  and  Science  have  become  true 
yokefellows:  Modern  Art,  strives  to  make  the 
mean  appear  ideal.  Modern  Science  makes  the 
ideal  mean. 


Education  and  Science  have  so  far  only  length- 
ened man's  hands  and  feet,  they  have  elongated 
his  ears,  and  sharpened  his  eyes.  But  they  have 
not  enlarged  his  heart,  nor  even  expanded  his 
vision.  The  same  healing  art  which  gives  quinine 
to  the  fevered  and  ether  in  surgery,  practices 
vivisection  if  not  on  paupers'  babes  in  hospitals, 
at  least  on  defenceless  beasts  in  the  laboratory. 
The  spread  of  intelligence  has  made  roguery  more 
successful,  honesty  more  difficult.  It  has  added 
many  luxuries  that  make  for  loss  of  stamina  in 
soul  as  well  as  body,  but  have  not  made  the  strug- 
gle for  existence  less  fierce.  And  the  railways  that 
take  us  across  continent  in  a  few  days  are  operated 
only  with  the  slaughter  or  maiming  of  some  one 
hundred  thousand  human  beings  a  year,  some  two 
thousand  a  week,  some  three  hundred  a  day,  some 
dozen  every  hour,  one  soul  during  the  few  minutes 
that  this  paragraph  is  being  written,  during  the 
very  time  it  takes  you,  dear  reader,  to  read  it  .  .  . 

The  wrong  is  not  in  possessing  the  hot  water 
but  in  letting  it  scald  others.    Modern  Civilization 
to  the  cry  of  the  scalded  flesh  only  answers :    But 
I  have  a  right  to  my  hot  water ! 

Theoretically,  Modern  Civilization  is  supposed 

THE    MODERNS  285 

to  enable  every  man  to  make  a  wise  man  out  of 
himself.  Practically,  it  only  leaves  him  free  to 
make  a  fool  of  himself. 


The  difference  between  the  old  so-called  super- 
stition and  the  modern  so-called  emancipation  is : 
In  the  days  of  old  folk  feared  to  go  to  the  theatre 
lest  they  roast  after  they  die.  In  the  days  of 
to-day  folk  brave  going  to  the  theatre  even  with 
the  reasonable  chance  of  roasting  before  they  die. 


No  prince  of  ancient  times  was  ever  known  to 
be  eager  to  prove  that  he  was  the  son  of  a  — hod- 
carrier.  On  the  contrary,  the  hod-carrier's  son, 
once  he  got  into  power,  was  eager  to  prove  himself 
the  son  of  a  god.  But  in  Modern  Science  the  men 
who  had  hitherto  been  held  to  be  the  offspring  of 
God  are  more  than  eager  to  prove  that  they  are 
really  descended  from  a  tail-carrier  .  .  . 


A  product  peculiar  to  the  Nineteenth  Century, 
and  its  prolongation,  the  Twentieth,  is  a  literary 
man  losing  his  head  in  his  youth,  and  then  going 
about  the  rest  of  his  life  to  establish  the  beauty 
of  headlessness. 


In  an  evil  moment  Lessing  said  that  Raphael 
would  still  have  been  a  great  painter  had  he  been 
born  without  hands.  Ever  since,  many  an  artist 
who  has  lost  his  head  still  continues  in  the  belief 
that  he  is  a  great  artist. 



Our  literary  men  are  now  chiefly  hodmen  for 
publishers  (just  as  editors  of  periodicals  are  chiefly 
clerks  in  the  upper  story  for  the  counting  room  in 
the  lower)  who  are  long  of  dollars,  tho'  short  of 
wit  and  taste.  These  in  turn  are  chiefly  hodmen  of 
readers  who  are  long  of  ennui  and  short  of  aims  in 
life,  and  need  to  be — amused  .  .  .  The  nations  of 
Canaan  were  hewers  of  wood  and  drawers  of 
water  to  at  least  God's  chosen  people,  but  these 
have  not  even  this  consolation.  "The  public 
wants  this,  the  public  wants  that !"  Madame  Ro- 
land would  now  cry  instead :  "0  Public,  how  many 
the  literary  Follies  committed  in  thy  name!" 

The  chief  characteristic  of  modern  book-making 
is  first,  their  outward  voluptuousness,  and  then 
their  inward  leanness.    Superficial  wealth  covering 
abject  poverty. 


At  first  the  appearance  of  books  was  padded, 
now  it  is  their  contents. 

The  modern  ambition  in  letters  seems  to  be: 
To  tell  without  genius  in  a  big  book  what  has 
already  been  told  with  genius  in  a  small  one. 

Old  Midas  touched  paint  and  it  became  gold. 
But  poor  Midas,  soon  saw  that  he  was  under  a 
curse.  Our  modern  painters  also  touch  paint,  and 
it  becomes  gold.  But  they  do  not  yet  see  them- 
selves under  the  curse  .  .  . 

THE    MODERNS  287 


A  special  product  of  the  Nineteenth-Twentieth 
Century  is  the  man  whose  wisdom  decreases  as 
his  knowledge  increases.  Our  learned  men  are 
many  of  this  sort.  The  Chicago  professor  who 
discovered  that  our  modern  Rockefellers  are  really 
the  whilom  Shakespeares  was  dismissed :  not,  how- 
ever, because  he  thought  foolishly,  but  because 
he  spake  foolishly  .  .   . 


Some  of  our  recent  religious  movements  remind 
one  of  the  bicycle  tandem,  which  is  a  treadmill 
with  the  poetry  of  riding  taken  out. 

So-called  Christian  Science  is  a  cult  devised  by 
a  woman,  and  largely  for  women.  Accordingly, 
only  a  womaii  could  sum  it  up  most  neatly  as  "a 
splendid  institution  for  those  who  have  not  brains 
enough  to  exert  their  will  power  without  joining 
a  sect." 


A  male  Christian  Scientist  is  generally  a  femi- 
nine man.  A  female  Spiritualist  is  generally  a 
masculine  woman. 


The  cry  for  young  ministers  is  rebellion  not  so 
much  against  gray  heads  as  against  gray  hearts. 

The  craving  for  fiction  is  due  as  much  to  the 
hunger  for  truth  as  to  the  loss  of  truth. 
The  abundance  of  pictorial  illustration  illus- 
trates only  the  decay  of  imagination. 



Commerce  is  becoming  the  art  of  convincing 
folk  that  they  need  what  you  don't. 

Metaphysics   betoken   the    decay   of   religion ; 
Ethics  the  decay  of  Integrity,  Political  Economy 
the  decay  of  Love,  Fiction  the  decay  of  Truth. 

Once    Charity   covered    a   multitude    of    sins. 
Now  it  is  not  even  the  money  given  for  charity, 
but  "success"  that  covers  every  sin  committed  in 
attaining  it. 


Fashions  were  meant  originally  to  change  only 
with  the  climate  and  the  person.  Now  they 
change  only  with  the  tailor  and  milliner. 


The  ancient  women  sat  at  the  loom :  the  mod- 
ern sit  at  the  piano  at  home,  and  in  the  committee- 
room  (if  not  at  the  bridge  table)  abroad.  And  the 
difference  is  between  weaving  cloth  and  weaving 


Society  was  first  made  by  men;  it  then  began 
to  be  ruled  by  women :  it  is  now  about  to  consist 
of  and  for  children. 


The  modern  complaint:  How  shall  we  get  the 
time?  is  uttered  largely  by  those  whose  chief 
burden  is,  How  shall  we  spend  the  time? 

THE    MODERNS  289 


It  was  not  ever  thus;  but  now  they  may  well 
have  music  at  a  wedding.  Soldiers  are  led  into 
slaughter  also  with  music. 

A    modern    Virtue:      Contentment    with    the 
bitterness  of  the  river  at  its  mouth  because  of  its 
sweetness  at  the  head. 

In  the  modern  struggle  for  existence  failure 
from  our  own  weakness  is  certain;    and  success 
without  the  weakness  of  others  is  problematic. 

Speak  that  I  may  see  you!  could  be  said  by  the 
ancient  sage.     See,  that  I  may  speak  with  you! 
must  be  said  by  the  modern  one. 

.   ;  1706. 

There  is  expansion  by  growth  and  by  bloating. 
Modern  expansion  is  chiefly  by  bloating. 

It  used  to  be:     Like  priest,  like  people.     It  is 
now:    Like  people,  like  priest. 

No  one  nowadays  is  free  without  money.     It  is 
only  a  question  whether  there  are  any  free  with 

The  discussion  whether  our  age  is  better  than 
former  ages  or  worse  is  only  an  academic  one.    No 
age  was  ever  as  good  as  it  could  be,  and  every  age 
is  worse  than  it  need  be. 



The  symptom  best  attesting  the  wide  degeneracy 
of  the  present  is  the  entire  lack  of  real  admiration 
or  even  appreciation  on  the  part  of  even  those 
capable  thereof.  Every  one  thinks  himself  com- 
petent to  have  an  opinion  on  everything,  to  sit  in 
judgment  over  everyone,  each  deeming  himself 
the  peer  of  the  best.  This  temper  begins  in  self- 
sufficiency,  continues  with  self-conceit,  and  ends 
in  self-deceit. 


A  modern  bugbear:  the  cry,  But  this  is  not 
original!  AH  good  thoughts  are  sure  to  be  old; 
and  all  new  thoughts  are  not  so  sure  of  being  good. 

Said  the  Scotchman  on  his  death-bed :  My  Son, 
make  money:  honestly,  if  you  can,  but — make 
money.  The  apocryphal  Scotchman  was  a  rogue ; 
the  real  modern  Philosopher  is  only  a — Pragma- 

Modern  Science  is  very  patient  with  the  un- 
tying of  the  knot ;   and  toward  the  end  it  deliber- 
ately'— cuts  it. 

Without  God  modern  civilization  is  as  fatal  as 
ancient  barbarism.     The  fire  of  the  noblest  oak 
burns  as  fatally  as  that  of  the  meanest  scrub. 

Old  age  complains  of  the  times,   that  youth 
shows  no  respect  for  age.     But,  my  aged  friend, 
have  you  taken  pains  to  make  old  age  venerable 
to  youth? 

THE    MODERNS  29 1 


How  shall  old  age  be  venerable  to  youth  when 
everyone  is  frantically  striving  not  to  be  old? 


Brass  may  not  resound  louder  than  gold  in 
Nature.  It  always  does  in  contemporary  Letters 
and  Art. 


Their  social  certificate  folk  nowadays  carry 
mostly  in  their  purse;  a  few  still  carry  it  in  their 
head.    I  prefer  mine  in  the  heart. 


Modern  Science  often  invites  folk  to  throw  a 
firebrand  into  a  keg  of  powder,  with  the  assurance 
that  no  harm  will  come  therefrom.  Unfortunately 
it  has  hitherto  failed  to  prove  that  the  experiment 
has  ever  been  successful. 


There  is  much  groping  these  days  for  the  guide, 
when  all  that  is  needed  is  to  get  into  the  path. 


They  make  it  their  special  business  to  live'  for 
man — I  am  somewhat  suspicious  of  them.  It  is 
just  possible  that  they  have  turned  philanthropists 
after  finding  themselves  unable  to  live  with  men. 


The  woman  that  sits  nowadays  for  her  portrait 
displaying  her  teeth — beware  of  her,  as  you  do  of 
that  other  animal  that  displays  his  teeth  .  .  . 



For  meeting  the  mean  a  short  walk  is  long 
enough.  For  meeting  the  noble  even  a  long 
journey  seldom  suffices. 


The  ancients  wrote  aphorisms;  the  moderns 
write  essays.  And  the  distinction  is  characteristic. 
But  the  moderns  do  not  wholly  repudiate  the 
aphorism.  Only  they  give  the  matter  a  new  turn..; 
So  that  if  your  disconnected  paragraphs  are  sep- 
arated by  numbers  or  dashes,  you  are  an  aphorist. 
If  they  are  joined  together  without  marks  of 
separation,  you  are  an — essayist. 


All  literature  so  far  consists  chiefly  of  two  kinds : 
truth  as  groundwork  with  vast  supersturcture  of  j 
fiction ;    fiction  as  centre  with  occasional  bits  of  I 
truth  around  it. 


A  great  victory  may  prove  only  less  disastrous 
than  a  great  defeat.  The  modern  victory  of  man 
over  Nature  and  the  elements  is  one  of  those  dis- 
astrous victories  .  .  . 


My  quarrel  with  modern  so-called  art  is  that 
its  messages  are  seldom  worth  delivering;  and 
when  they  are,  too  much  liberty  is  taken  with  the 
dotting  of  the  i's  and  the  crossing  of  the  t's. 

A  great  mistake :    to  expect  fruit  from  seed  re- 
gardless of  soil  and  weather.     Modern  education 
is  powerless  about  the  seeds,  heedless  of  the  soil, 
and  wholly  ignorant  as  to  the  weather. 

THE    MODERNS  293 


In  every  age  evildoers  have  had  their  apologists. 
In  our  age  the  monopolistic  corporations  have 
theirs.  The  Standard  Oil  folk  have  forsooth  given 
us  cheaper  oil.  And  I  begin  to  feel  as  if  I  ought  to 
cultivate  a  new  admiration  for  the  despised  worm. 
The  dear  worm,  he  has  use  for  even  a  corpse.  It 
is  his  paradise,  in  fact,  it  is!  .  .  . 

We  wonder  at  our  ancestors  who  warred  against 
each  other  for  the  sake  of  a  religion  of  love.  Our 
descendants  will  wonder  at  us  for  going  to  war 
for  the  sake  of  peace.  And  we  must  wonder  at 
ourselves  for  refusing  help  to  our  fellows  in  the 
name  of  Scientific  Charity. 


-  "Know  thyself!"  The  ancients  needed  this 
exhortation  in  the  objective  case.  The  modern 
man  needs  it  also  in  the  nominative. 



Two  men  have  hardly  yet  begun  to  live:  who 
is  already  weary  of  life,  who  has  not  yet  wearied 
of  life. 

The  problem  of  life  ?  The  very  use  of  the  phrase 
by  you  shows  that  you  either  have  not  yet  even 
grasped  the  meaning  of  life,  or  have  already  lost  it. 

Life  is  a  tragedy  to  the  poor,  a  comedy  to  the 
rich;  to  the  wise  it  is  both,  to  the  fool  it  is  neither. 
And  herein  is  the  fool  for  once  wiser  than  the  wise. 

Life  itself  is  little,  it  is  its  duties  that  make  it 

Length  of  life  is  measured  by  the  number  of 
days  lived  by  us ;  breadth  of  life  by  the  number  of 
folk  known  to  us;  depth  of  life  by  the  number  of 
sorrows  borne  by  us ;  height  of  life  by  the  number 
of  folk  loved  by  us. 

Fear  not  lest  thy  life  come  to  an  end;  rather 
lest  it  ne'er  begin. 

Life  is  small  if  measured  by  what  may  be  gotten 
out  of  it.    It  is  great  enough  if  measured  by  what 
can  be  put  into  it. 

OF    LIFE  295 


Life  is  measured  not  by  its  horizontal  but  by- 
its  vertical  extent.  Pressure  is  determined  not 
by  the  breadth  of  the  column  but  by  its  height. 

This  life  is  only  a  parenthesis  of  eternity. 

The  secret  of  life  is  to  turn  on  a  small  pivot  over 
a  wide  circumference. 

The  secret  of  life  is  that  each  must  learn  it  for 

The  great  end  of  life  is  love;  its  great  means, 
hope;  its  great  method,  faith. 

The  art  of  life  consists  in  keeping  earthly  step 
to  heavenly  music. 

Signboards  are  good  during  the  journey.     It  is 
the  art  of  life  not  to  carry  them  about  after  the 

The  art  of  life  consists  in  putting  ourselves  first 
in  the  place  of  those  we  do  not  understand;  and 
then  in  the  place  of  those  who  do  not  understand 

Every  real  need  is  supplied  us.     It  is  the  art  of 
life  ever  after  to  hold  thereto. 



Enjoyment  in  play  consists  in  recognizing  the 
limits  which  must  not  be  passed.  Enjoyment  in 
life  consists  in  recognizing  the  limits  which  can 
never  be  reached. 


That  is  the  great  life  which  is  equal  not  only  to 
its  great  opportunities,  but  also  to  its  small  duties. 

The  ideal  life  is  like  the  ideal  book :  which  must 
be  of  the  best  paper,  clearly  printed,  and  strongly 

That   is  the   great  life  which   though  having 
nothing  to  hide  has  yet  much  to  disclose. 

That  is  the  great  life  which  is  like  the  clock  in 
the  tower :  its  very  usefulness  distracts  the  atten- 
tion from  its  great  size. 

Every  life  has  its  tunnels:  if  short  they  only 
chill  you;  but  if  long  they  freeze  you. 

That  is  the  longest  life  which  consists  of  short 


You  cannot  begin  a  new  life,  it  is  begun  for  you. 
You  can  only  continue  it. 

The  first  part  of  life  is  wisely  spent  in  endeavor 
to  become  somebody.     The  second  is  spent  still 
more  wisely  is  learning  to  stay  a  nobody. 

OF    LIFE  297 

Life  without  religion  is  like  the  open  street  car : 
not  built  for  stormy  weather. 

In  life  the  parts  are  always  greater  than  the 

"Thay  or  coffay  ?"  "I  will  have  some  tea,  if  you 
please."  "We  ain't  got  no  thay,  you  will  have  to 
take  some  coffay."  We  smile  at  the  scene  in  the 
restaurant,  but  every  choice  we  make  in  life  is 
perhaps  equally  free,  though  not  equally  humor- 


The  life  of  most  folk  consists  in  reading  a  dull 
text  for  the  sake  of  a  few  piquant  notes. 

Common  folk  wish  for  more  of  life,  the  uncom- 
mon wish  for  more  in  life. 

In  the  lottery  the  more  tickets  you  hold  the 
greater  your  chance  of  winning.     In  life  the  more 
tickets  you  hold,  the  greater  the  chance  of  losing. 

For  two  things  life  is  too  short:  for  hatred,  for 


Life  is  too  short  for  regrets;  and  for  mourning 
it  is  long  enough  only  when  its  tears  fertilize  the 



Mournful  the  fate  of  him  that  hath  swerved  to 
the  right  of  his  ordained  path,  and  pitiful  the  fate 
of  him  that  hath  swerved  to  the  left  of  his  or- 
dained path.  But  pitifullest  the  fate  of  him  who 
is  a  living  pendulum:  swerving  now  to  the  right, 
now  to  the  left :  ever  returning  to  his  centre,  never 
abiding  there.  And  all  that  is  left  is  to  thank 
God  for  the  centre,  which  maugre  all  swerving 
cannot  be  gotten  away  from   .    .    .    . 

The  rule  to  pass  out  in  front  and  enter  by  the 
rear  is  well  observed  all  through  life  as  well  as  in 
the  cars. 

A  pure  life  is  like  the  sky :  the  clouds'  pass  over 
it,  even  hide  it,  but  never  stain  it. 

It  is  difficult  to  know  one's  place  in  life,  and 
far  more  difficult  to  keep  it  after  knowing  it. 


It  is  urged  by  several  reputedly  wise  folk, 
Goethe  among  them,  that  we  be  either  hammer 
or  anvil.  I  intend  to  be  neither:  certainly  not 
hammer;  and  anvil  I  must  be  only  when  it  is  God 
who  holds  the  hammer   .... 

Your  words  tell  what  you  hold,  your  life  tells 
what  holds  you. 

The  sermon  is  the  man  discoursing,  the  life  is 
the  man  preaching. 

OF    LIFE  299 


To  have  nothing  worth  more  than  life  is  to  have 
a  life  worth  nothing. 

Even  the  best  life  can  only  make  the  best  of 

Amusements  may  do  for  the  filling  in  of  the 
chinks  of  life;  for  filling  in  the  spaces  labor  alone 
will  do. 

The  advantage  of  being  dead  is  that  for  once 
folk  know  where  you  are. 

The  sick  at  heart  death  seldom  takes.     Instead 
he  prods  them  oft  with  the  point  of  his  scythe. 

Who  leaves  not  death  behind  him,  need  not 
fear  death  before  him . 

To  be  truly  dead  folk  must  die  not  only  to  their 
bad  selves,  but  also  to  their  good  selves. 

Beautiful   the  thought  that  even  the  godless 
are  laid  away  so  that  they  too  look  up  to  heaven. 

The  dead  ashes  improve  the  field,  the  living 
crops  exhaust  it. 

We  do  not  learn  to  die  by  helping  others  to  die. 
we  do  learn  to  live  by  helping  others  to  live. 


300  OF    LIFE 


The  display  of  strength  after  a  heavy  fall  is 
seldom  more  than  the  natural  rebound.  The  art 
of  life  is  to  prepare  during  that  rebound  for  the 
unavoidable  return  downward   .    .    . 

We  must  all  die  once  without  our  consent,  let 
us  die  once  with  our  consent  that  we  may  live  the 
life  which,  once  obtained,  cannot  be  lost  without 
our  consent. 

All  men  at  first  merely  live;    the  many  soon 
outlive;   same  revive;   the  few  survive. 


The  most  apt  type  of  man  is  the  moon,  which 

is  full  only  two  or  three  days,  and  is  dark  only  two 

or  three  days,  but  is  partly  bright  and  partly  dark 

the  rest  of  the  month,  and  its  realm  is  the  night   .  . 



The  ideal  society  is  the  one  in  which  everyone 
has  his  work  and  is  given  his  due. 

Society   is   organized   largely   for   the   mutual 
maintenance  of  self-complacency. 

Circulating  decimals — the  chief  constituent  of 
fashionable  society. 

Fashionable  society  is  faulty  chiefly  in  its  gram- 
mar.   It  knows  no  them,  only  us. 

In  a  democracy  every  city  has  its  own  "soci- 
ety"; but  there  is  no  society  in  the  nation;  unless 
contiguous  but  separate  ant-heaps  with  now  and 
then  a  path  from  the  one  to  the  other  can  be 
called  national  society. 

Every  field  of  life  has  its  fatal  mistake.     In 
society  it  consists  in  mistaking  the  beanpole  for 
the  stalk. 


Yes,  my  society  friends;  gold  also  can  be  made 
to  float ;  but  only  when  beaten  thin  or  as  a  hollow 
tube   .... 


What  makes  society  folk  is  that  they  are  most 
at  home  when  not  at  home. 

The  safest  bond  of  society  is  confidence;  its 
most  dangerous  is  familiarity. 

Two  great  calamities:  when  society  unfits  us 
for  sober  pursuits;  when  sober  pursuits  unfit  us 
for  society. 

In  society  a  man  is  measured  first  by  what 
others  take  him  to  be,  and  then  by  what  he  takes 
others  to  be. 

In  society,  folk  like  the  moon,  always  present 
us  the  same  face. 

Even  merciless  law  is  more  charitable  than 
' 'society."  Law  holds  one  innocent  till  proven 
guilty,  and  gives  him  the  benefit  of  the  doubt. 
Society  treats  the  accused  as  guilty  till  proven  in- 
nocent, and  gives  him  the  benefit  of — suspicion. 


Where  society  between  folk  of  different  sta- 
tions in  life  is  found  it  is  not  because  of  the  su- 
periority of  the  inferior,  but  because  of  the  need 
of  the  superior. 


The  insincerity  of  speech  in  French  society 
comes  from  loving  folk  more  than  the  truth.  The 
insincerity  of  speech  elsewhere  is  apt  to  come  from 
loving  neither. 

OF    SOCIETY  303 


It  is  the  empty  house  that  has  its  blinds  always 
shut.  The  exclusive  display  by  their  exclusive- 
ness  only  their  emptiness. 

To  be  fit  for  circulation  the  gold  must  be  al- 


There  are  folk  with  whom,  the  living  together 

not  only  wears  off  the  fuzz  of  their  own  velvet, 

but  they  cover  us,  like  the  brown-tail  moth,  with 

a  fuzz  of  their  own  which  irritates  and  poisons. 

The  true  aristocrats  are  only  three:  who  toils 
honestly  with  his  hands,  who  thinks  clearly  with 
his  head,  who  loves  forgivingly  with  his  heart. 

Of  a  new  acquaintance  I  always  ask  first :  Is  he 
on  the  lookout  for  appreciation?    And  then,  Is  it 
appreciation  of  himself  or  others. 

The  small  soul  out  of  society  is  like  the  fish  out 
of  the  water,  darting  hither  and  thither,  though 
only  for  a  time ;  the  great  soul  out  of  its  society  is 
like  the  bird  without  air — choked  at  once. 

A  man  is  best  known  when  seen  apart;  he  is 
best  understood  when  seen  as  a  part. 

To  pass  true  judgment  on  ourselves  we  must 
be  in  society,  to  pass  true  judgment  on  others  we 
must  be  in  solitude. 



Against  vexation  by  things  the.  one  remedy  is 
patience ;  against  vexation  by  folk  patience  is  also 
a  good  remedy,  but  the  patience  born  of  love. 

I  am  never  so  much  alone  as  when  looking  to 
my  fellows  by  day.     I  am  never  so  much  in  soci- 
ety, as  when  looking  to  the  stars  at  night. 

A  great  tragedy :  for  copper  to  be  passing  for 
gold;  but  there  is  a  greater:  for  gold  to  be  taken 
for  copper. 


The  vice  of  low  breeding  is  obliviousness  of 
what  is  above  it;  the  fault  of  high  breeding  is  a 
certain  scorn  of  what  is  beneath  it. 

1813.  . 
The  brute  is  indifferent  to  what  is  below  him; 
the  boor,  to  what  is  above  him;  the  refined  man, 
only  to  what  is  beyond  him. 

The  superior  man  is  content  even  among  his 
inferiors ;  the  inferior  man  is  content  only  among 
his  equals. 

By  hating  our  inferiors  we  sink  to  them,  by 
loving  our  superiors  we  rise  toward  them. 

By  hating  our  inferiors  we  descend  to  them; 
by  persecuting  them  we  sink  below  them. 

OF    SOCIETY  305 


It  is  the  mark  of  a  great  man  that  while  his 
height  above  his  fellows  makes  him  small  in  their 
eyes,  their  distance  below  him  does  not  make 
them  small  in  his. 


From  others  to  ourselves  we  must  ask  only  jus- 
tice; others  from  us  have  a  right  to  expect  mercy. 

All  need  our  pity.     It  is  only  a  question  to 
whom  we  should  also  give  our  sympathy. 

All  have  a  right  to  expect  others  to  do  their 
duty;  few  have  a  right  to  demand  it. 

Unlike  steam  and  trolley  roads  folk  cross  each 
other  best  not  above  grade  or  below  grade,  but 
at   grade. 

The  esteem  of  folk  is  gained  more  by  what  is 
said  of  them  than  by  what  is  done  for  them. 

It  is  easy  to  gain  notoriety,  and  as  easy  to  lose 

Confiding  in  another  is  not  always  a  sign  that 
you  trust  him.     It  may  be  the  sign  that  you 
cannot  be  trusted  yourself. 

Our  dislike  of  folk  can  be  destroyed  by  reason. 
Our  liking  of  folk  cannot  be  built  up  by  mere 



It  is  only  Nature  that  never  loses  its  charm 
by  our  familiarity  therewith.  Familiarity  with 
man's  work,  however  beautiful,  causes  loss  of  at 
least  vital  interest. 


The  pleasure  of  finding  folk  agreeing  with  us  is 
seldom  due  to  finding  ourselves  confirmed  in  the 
truth;  oftener  it  is  in  the  confirmation  that  we  are 
so  wise. 


A  searching  test :  whether  you  like  him  as  much 
for  the  things  about  which  you  agree  as  you  dis- 
like him  for  the  things  about  which  you  disagree. 

Who  cannot  endure  the  society  of  the  bad  has 
seen  too  little  of  the  world;  who  can  has  seen  too 

An  insult  is  only  mud  thrown  at  you;  and  like 
mud  is  best  brushed  off  when  dry. 

A  simple  test :  whether  you  are  more  distressed 
by  the  wrong  you  do  than  by  the  wrong  you  suffer. 

As  long  as  every  one  dislikes  you  there  may  yet 
be  hope.     It  is  when  every  one  likes  you  that 
your  case  is  most  desperate. 

The  man  who  is  content  in  solitude  is  a  remark- 
able man,  but  chiefly  from  the  fact  that  he  is  an 
abnormal  man. 

OF    SOCIETY  307 


Forgetfulness  of  names  is  a  sign  of  incipient 
decay  of  mind;  forgetfulness  of  persons  is  a  sign 
of  incipient  decay  of  heart. 

The  ideal  man,  though  nowhere  at  home  him- 
self, will  make  every  one  at  home  with  him. 

It  is  futile  to  try  to  conciliate  the  world  to 
us.     We  can  only  reconcile  ourselves  to  the  world. 

Of  Pegasus  and  the  ox  is  only  Pegasus  to  be 
pitied?     No,  the  ox  also.     Only  the  fate  of  Pega- 
sus is  one  to  make  angels  weep ;  the  fate  of  the  ox 
is  only  one  to  make  oxen  bellow. 

The  surest  way  to  win  men's  hearts  is  by  frank- 
ness and  sincerity,  but  also  the  surest  way  to  lose 

Every  one  is  interesting  enough  for  a  time  at  a 
distance.     Few  are  abidingly  so  at  close  range. 

In  the  upper  classes  it  is  chiefly  the  embroidery 
that  is  fine,  while  the  texture  is  rather  indifferent. 
In  the  lower  classes,  it  is  the  reverse. 

Society  and  specialism  in  learning  have  th's  in 
common:  both  create  an  artificial  state  of  mind 
which  makes  impossible  both  the  perception  of 
truth  where  it  is  not  had,  and  its  right  expression 
where  it  is  had. 



Of  all  the  figures  the  zero  is  the  most  pleasing 
to  the  eye  because  it  has  no  angles.  And  that  is 
why  it  is  always  safer  to  take  the  place  of  zero  in 

Rank  is  to  the  person  what  the  stamp  is  to  the 
coin:  adds  nothing  to  its  value,  but  aids  its  circu- 

It  is  a  great  hardship  to  be  an  exile  from  one's 
country,  a  greater  hardship  to  be  an  exile  in  one's 

The  vulgar  mind  is  not  given  to  admiring ;  the 
refined  soul  is  not  given  to  being  admired. 

All  have  some  hairy  clothing ;  but  the  few  have 
silk  hair,  the  rest  have  goat's  hair;  happy  their 
case  if  it  be  not  swine's  bristles. 

The  foundation  of  all  society  is  the  craving  for 
company;  the  foundation  of  all  noble  society  is 
the  craving  for  companionship. 


vSincere  we  must  be  with  all;  confiding,  hardly 
to  any. 


High  society — high  satiety:  with  constant 
search  for  an  appetite. 

OF    SOCIETY  309 


It  is  in  society  as  with  money;  the  precious 
metal  is  hid  in  the  vault.  What  circulates  is  apt 
to  be  mostly  printed  rags  with  values  stamped 


Their  social  certificate  folk  nowadays  carry 
mostly  in  their  purse ;  a  few  still  carry  it  in  their 
head.     I  prefer  mine  in  my  heart. 

The  possession  of  what  we  need  is  compara- 
tively inexpensive.     It  is  the  possession  of  what 
others  like  that  is  so  expensive. 

There  are  two  kinds  of  lonely  folk:  who  really 
are  above  their  fellows;  who  only  fail  to  recognize 
their  fellows. 

Who  sharpens  his  wit  against  others  is  only 
sharpening  their  memory  against  himself. 

Folk  in  society  are  like  the  advertisements  in 
the  street  cars :  all  that  is  best  in  the  articles  you 
learn  there:   but  the  other   side — that   you   can 
learn  only  in  the  privacy  of  home  use. 

Geese  keep  together  by  nature,  the  fellowship 
of  souls  must  be  cultivated. 

My  exclusive  friend- — even  the  cold  car  becomes 
readily  heated  when  packed  with  people  enough. 



To  despise  the  common  is  the  vulgar  error  of 
the  cultivated.  And  the  good  is  not  so  common  \ 
among  them  because  they  despise  it  as  common. 

The  butterfly,  to  spread  its  wings,  needs  the 
sunshine  of  the  day;  the  owl  gets  on  with  the 
darkness  of  the  night.     Not  in  vain  is  the  one 
symbol  of  society;  the  other,  of  wisdom. 


The  two  meanest  souls  on  earth — I  have  known 
them  both :  one,  the  wife  of  a  loving  husband  who 
in  all  the  score  of  years  of  their  wedded  life  saw 
naught  in  him  to  praise,  and  nearly  all  to  blame; 
the  other,  the  maiden  of  the  lover  who  in  all  the 
twenty  years  and  five  of  his  passionate  devotion 
unto  her  was  meted  out  scant  cheer  only  rarely, 
but  stern  reproach  nearly  alway.  There  is  no 
question  as  to  these  two  being  the  meanest  souls 
under  heaven.  The  only  question  is  which  is  the 
meaner  of  the  two. 


Petty  interests  only  freeze  men  together;  com- 
mon interests  glue  men  together;  noble  interests 
melt  men  together. 


A  great  misfortune:  to  be  so  busy  with  the 
great  duties  to  man  as  to  neglect  the  small  duties 
to  men. 


It  is  a  mark  of  weakness  to  be  unable  to  endure 
the  imperfections  of  others;  and  it  is  a  cause  of 
weakness  to  endure  them. 

OF    SOCIETY  311 


By  humanitarianism  I  understand  for  the  pres- 
ent all  those  well-meant  theories  of  whatever  name 
which  start  out  with  the  hope  of  regeneration 
of  society;  of  lifting  man  from  his  acknowledged 
selfish  depth  to  a  noble  height  by  means  of  philan- 
thropic effort,  but  without  the  great  God  and  His 
annointed  Christ;  to  make  man  taller  by  means 
of  his  own  hand-made  stilts;  to  lift  man  to  heaven 
by  means  of  his  man-made  pulleys,  to  ascend 
thereto  with  his  own-built  ladders.  In  temper 
Philanthrophy  is  thus  not  superior  to  the  Post- 
deluvians  with  their:  "  Go  to,  let  us  build  us  a  tow- 
er that  shall  reach  unto  heaven."  If  not  so  gross- 
ly presumptuous,  it  effects  the  same  inevitable 
confusion  of  tongues  and  scattering  among  men. 


The  other  night  a  man  came  here  to  lecture  on 
the  Life  Saving  Service,  and  illustrated  it  with 
the  stereopticon.  He  came  to  make  others  see 
some  interesting  things ;  but  he  himself  was — blind. 

I  have  a  friend  who  is  successfully  giving  his 
life  to  the  healing  of  the  sick,  though  he  himself  is 
an  invalid  much  of  the  time,  walking  on  crutches 

And  thus  it  ever  is:  Sinful  folk  devoting  their 
lives  to  the  turning  of  their  neighbors  into  saints ; 
ignorant  folk  eager  to  enlighten  their  fellows,  un- 
happy folk  devoting  their  lives  to  making  others 

But  the  audience  of  the  blind  man  was  wiser 
than  the  lecturer.  It  did  not  come  to  be  made  to 
see  some  things  by  him :  they  paid  their  quarter 
of  a  dollar  to  see  how  a  blind  man  would  make 
others  see. 



A  boy  is  not  a  boy  as  long  as  he  is  much  of 
a  girl;  the  man  is  not  a  man  until  he  is  not  a 
little  of  a  woman. 

A  man  is  not  complete  until  he  has  not  a  little 
of  the  woman  in  him.     A  woman  is  not  complete 
as  long  as  she  has  much  of  the  man  in  her. 

A  feminine  man — something  may  yet  become 
of   him;   the   masculine   woman — what,  pray,   is 
here  to  become  of  her? 

A  foolish   man  is  apt  to  talk  more  of  himself; 
a  foolish  woman  is  apt  to  talk  more  of  others. 
He  is  vain,  she  is  curious. 


A  man  likes  you  for  what  he  thinks  you  are; 
a  woman,  for  what  you  think  she  is. 

A  great  woman  can  afford  to  be  only  unknown. 
A  great  man  must  afford  also  to  be  misknown. 

Men's  eyes  are  in  their  heads;  women's  in  their 

MEN   AND    WOMEN  313 


A  man  sells  himself  at  times  from  his  love  for 
others;  a  woman  sells  herself  nearly  always  from 
love  of  self. 


A  man's  second  advice  is  apt  to  be  better  than 
his  first,  a  woman's  is  seldom  as  good. 

When  a  man  loves  a  woman  beneath  him  he 
seldom  descends  to  her;  when  a  woman  loves  a 
man  above  her,  she  seldom  rises  to  him. 

A  woman  is  no  longer  herself  when  she  has 
ceased  to  be  given  to  tears.     A  man  is  not  yet 
himself  as  long  as  he  is  not  yet  given  to  tears. 

The  woman  is  at  her  best  when  given  habitually 
to  smiles ;  the  man  is  then  only  not  yet  at  his  worst. 

It  is  always  well  for  a  man  to  have  a  woman's 
heart ;  it  is  hardly  ever  well  for  a  woman  to  have  a 
man's  head. 


Men  fall  easier  into  love,  women  into  hatred. 


It  may  be  true  that  woman  is  man's  inferior 
in  logic.  But  she  is  oft  his  superior  by  being  less 
in  need  of  logic. 


A  man's  love  for  a  woman  is  best  shown  by 
his   wishing   to   share   his   wealth   with   her.     A 


woman's  love  for  a  man  is  best  shown  by  her 
readiness  to  share  his  poverty  with  him. 

Women  are  more  likely  to  love  those  they  hate 
than  those  they  deem  ridiculous.  Of  the  ridicu- 
lous we  deem  ourselves  the  superiors.  Those  we 
hate  are  seldom  our  inferiors. 

Not  even  indifference  will  drive  out  from  a 
woman's  heart  a  certain  tenderness  for  the  man 
whose  love  she  does  not  reciprocate.  But  for  the 
man  who  has  lost  her  love  she  seldom  has  aught 
but  hatred. 


Pity  for  a  man  is  in  a  woman  love  embryonic ; 
friendship  for  him  is  generally  love  truncated. 

Where  the  lover  has  no  eyes,  the  husband  may 
need  putting  them  out. 

Where  the  lover  is  blind  to  real  faults  of  the 
maiden,  the  husband  may  yet  be  looking  to  the 
possible  shortcomings  of  the  wife. 

The  husband  needs  at  times  to  be  blind,  the 
wife  needs  oft  to  be  deaf;  both  need  much  of  the 
time  to  be  dumb. 

The  lover  may  easily  be  judged  from  his  maiden ; 
the  husband  not  so  easily  from  his  wife. 


MEN   AND    WOMEN  315 


The  tragedy  of  most  marriages  consists  in  folk 
embracing  more  than  they  can  carry. 

A  woman  ceases  to  be  half  when  she  becomes 
a  wife;  she  becomes  complete  only  as  a  mother. 

In  choosing  a  friend  always  go  up.     In  choosing 
a  wife  never  go  down. 

Were  the  husband  as  blind  to  the  faults  of  the 
wife  as  the  lover  is  to  those  of  the  maiden,  fewer 
unhappy    marriages    would    follow    the    happy 


I  know  a  soul  that  in  her  relation  to  him  con- 
sists of  ninety  parts  vinegar  and  ten  parts  oil; 
and  oft  she  wounds  him  that  loves  her,  and  out 
she  pours  the  oil  and  the  vinegar.  But  the 
vinegar  she  pours  into  the  wound  by  the  quart; 
the  oil  she  applies,  of  course,  but  by  the  drop    .    . 

Women  are  mostly  made  of  glass,  but  it  is  apt 
to  be  ground  glass. 

I  used  to  be  a  woman  suffragist  as  long  as  I 
saw  in  woman  only  delicate  spirit.     I  am  still 
a  woman  suffragist,  even  though  I  now  know  that 
there  is  to  her  also  much  coarse  flesh. 

The  mission  of  woman  is  either  to  make  happy 
and  be  happy  therein,  or  to  make  unhappy  and 
not  be  unhappy  therein. 




Few  women  have  great  understandings ;  but  the 
good  woman  makes  up  her  lack  of  head  with 
abundance  of  heart;  the  bad  woman  adds  to  her 
lack  of  head  also  a  deficiency  of  heart. 

I  can  get  on  with  the  kind  and  the  true  and  the 
strong.  I  can  still  get  on,  though  not  so  surely 
with  the  hateful,  the  deceitful  and  the  weak. 
I  find  somewhat  trying  those  who  are  neither  true 
nor  false,  neither  kind  nor  hateful,  neither  strong 
nor  weak.  But  there  are  folk  who  can  at  the  same 
time  be  both:  true  and  false,  weak  and  strong, 
loveable  and  hateful.  They  are  mostly  women, 
and  these  I  have  not  the  least  idea  how  to  get  on 


A  man  seldom  loves  a  woman  before  he  knows 
her;  a  woman  loves  a  man  long  after  she  knows 


Of  the  many  claims  of  Socrates  to  the  title  of 
the  wisest  of  the  Greeks  not  the  least  is  his  answer 
to  the  question  Is  it  better  to  marry  or  remain 
single?  He  might  have  argued  right  ably  for 
either,  and  thus  left  a  record  of  himself  as  a  great 
advocate.  But  he  only  answered  You  will  regret 
whichever  you  do. 


Marriage  halves  men,  parentage  doubles  them. 



There  is  a  friend  who  only  gives,  and  there  is  a 
friend  who  only  takes.     My  friend  must  be  one 
who  gives  and  takes. 

Asking  a  favor  may  secure  a  friend  as  readily 
as  bestowing  one. 

Who  longs  for  a  friend  is  worthy  of  one ;  not  so 
he  who  is  ever  seeking  a  friend. 

Folk  keep  on  their  shelves  many  boxes  labelled 
Friendship,  but  only  one  contains  the  sweetmeats 
with  the  flavor  of  the  divine   .    .    . 

Two  men  cannot  be  your  friends;  who  is  not 
friend  to  himself,  who  is  friend  only  to  himself. 

One  boon  is  ever  granted  us:  so  to  serve  our 
friends  that  when  they  are  laid  away  we  may 
lament  only  our  loss  and  not  our  delinquency. 

Friendship  with  a  man  is  friendship  with  his 
virtues  or  your  vices. 



Faithful  friendship  is  like  the  needle:  which 
speedily  repairs  its  punctures  with  the  thread 
in  its  wake. 


Letters  between  friends  are  always  necessary, 
answers  often,  replies  hardly  ever. 

Who  shows  me  his  fault  may  be  my  friend. 
Who  shows  me  mine  is  my  friend. 

Disappointment  in  friends  is  its  own  consola- 
tion, if  it  draw  us  closer  to  the  One  Friend   .    .    . 

Happy   he   who   hath   a   friend   in   need,    but 
happier  he  who  hath  Him  for  friend  who  maketh 
all  other  friends  needless. 


Friendships  were  meant  to  be   like  radii  of  a 

circle:    straight    from    circumference    to    center. 

They  are  mostly  like  spokes  of  the  hub ;  touching 

the  circumference  everywhere,  the  centre  nowhere. 

Acquaintances    are    valued    most    when    new; 
friendships,  when  old. 

Putty  friendships :  those  founded  on  a  common 

The  moon,  earth's  constant  companion,  turns 
only  one  side  to  us,  and  we  never  see  the  other. 

OF    FRIEND   AND   ENEMY  319 

Friends  have  oft  to  turn  to  us  only  their  one  side, 
and  then  we  wonder  why  they  are  so  one-sided. 

And     the     one-sided     friends     are     generally, 
like  the  moon,  of  most  service  only  when  it  is 
night   .    .    . 

We  think  we  trust  another.     It  is  only  our 
judgment  of  him  we  trust.     Not  your  friend  has 
deceived  you,  you  have  been  deceiving  yourself. 

A  species  of  cruelty  in  which  even  the  best 
friendship  can  indulge:  overloading  one  already 

' 'That  person  knows  me  best!"     Not  yet,  sir, 
he  only  misknows  you  least. 

Friendship   with   the    opposite   sex    is   risking 
unlimited  capital  for  limited  profits. 

Platonic  friendship  is  an  agreement  to  surrender 
the  walls  in  the  vain  hope  of  keeping  the  enemy 
from  the  city  itself. 

Our  best  friend  is  only  without  us,  our  worst 
enemy  is  both  without  and  within  us. 

What  ought  to  surprise  us  is  not  so  much  why 
we  have  so  many  enemies  as  why  we  have  so 
many  friends. 

32o  Aphorisms 

We  make  more  enemies  by  our  tongues  than 
friends  by  our  hearts ;  and  as  many  by  the  things 
we  do  not  as  by  those  we  do. 

Two  things  we  may  ever  believe  to  be  sincere: 
praise  from  our  enemies,  blame  from  our  friends. 

It  is  easier  to  forgive  an  enemy  than  a  friend. 

A  foolish  friend  is  only  less  dangerous  than  a 
wise  enemy. 

A  man's  friends  may  not  a  credit  to 
him;  his  enemies  always  should  be. 

Who  has  many  friends  is  probably  a  good  man, 
who  has  many  enemies  is  almost  surely  one. 

A  man  will  have  friends  as  long  as  he  can  still 
harm;   he  will  not  lack  enemies  as  long  as  he  can 
only  benefit. 

"I  have  not  an  enemy  in  the  world !"  is  either 
a  boast  or  a  delusion.  If  you  are  a  very  good  man 
or  even,  only  a  good  man,  you  already  have 
enemies.  If  you  are  a  bad  man,  you  will  surely 
yet  have  them. 

Your    enem3T    will    misunderstand    even    your 
speech.     Your   friend    must    not   misunderstand 
even  your  silence. 

OF    FRIEND    AND    ENEMY  32  I 


Two  things  I  find  it  highly  profitable  to  study : 
the  failings  of  my  friends,  the  virtues  of  my 


When  you  make  enemies  by  the  dozen  you  will 
find  them  real  enough.  When  you  make  friends 
by  the  dozen  you  will  find  them  not  so  real. 

With  your  grief  even  your  enemy  can  sympa- 
thize; with  your  joy,  only  your  friend. 

What  is  bad  about  us  we  surely  learn  from  our 
enemies.     What  is  good  about  us,  not  so  surely 
from  our  friends. 

There  are  four  ways  of  overcoming  an  enemy : 
the  first  is  love — show  it  to  him;  the  second  is  a 
gift — take  it  to  him;  the  third  is  separation — 
impose  it  upon  him ;  the  fourth  is  force — leave  it  to 
God  to  apply  it  to  him. 

However  bad  a  man,  he  will  surely  have  some 
friends;  however  good,  not  so  surely. 

To  mean  all  you  say  is  a  sure  way  of  making 
friends.     To  say  all  you  mean  is  a  surer  way  of 
making  enemies. 


The  eyes  of  our  friends  cost  us  as  much  as  the 
tongues  of  our  enemies. 



Friendship  may  speak  where  love  would  be 
silent.     It  will  be  silent  where  love  often  speaks. 

Is  he  my  friend  who  loves  me?  He  may  yet 
not  understand  me.  Is  he  my  friend  who  under- 
stands me?  He  may  yet  not  love  me.  But  who 
understands  me  because  he  loves  me,  who  loves 
me  because  he  understands  me — he  is  my  friend. 

There  is  no  true  friendship  without  much  love; 
there  is  much  love  without  true  friendship. 

No  enemy  is  more  dangerous  than  the  fool : 
against  a  straw  even  the  giant  pounds  in  vain. 


Three  men  are  my  friends :  who  loves  me,  who 
hates  me,  who  is  indifferent  to  me.  Who  loves 
me  teaches  me  tenderness,  who  hates  me  teaches 
me  caution,  who  is  indifferent  to  me  teaches  me 


A  good  cause  seldom  fails  through  the  judicious- 
ness of  its  enemies;  oftener  through  the  inju- 
diciousness  of  its  friends. 



The  mark  of  a  generous  soul :  to  give  as  an  act 
of  justice  what  is  really  a  favor.     The  mark  of  a 
mean  soul :  to  give  as  a  favor  what  is  only  an  act 
of  justice. 

It  may  need  as  much  generosity  to  take  as  to 

Generosity  is  not  always  a  part  of  giving.     It  is 
often  part  of  taking. 


Are  you  my  debtor?     Not  if  I  gave  cheerfully. 
And  certainly  not  if  I  gave  grudgingly. 


Who  gives  only  what  he  can  spare  pays  only  a 
debt.     A  gift  is  what  you  cannot  spare. 

He   gives  truly  who  makes  the  receiver ,  the 

It  needs  only  distress  to  know  how  to  receive. 
It  needs  more  than  kindness  to  know  how  to  give. 

It  needs  a  little  care  to  know  to  whom  to  give, 
it  needs  much  care  to  know  from  whom  to  receive. 


Our  most  expensive  possessions  are  often  those 
received  as  gifts. 

The  receiver  should  measure  a  gift  by  its  value 
to   the   giver.     The   giver   by   its   value   to   the 

The  quantity  of  the  gift  is  in  its  quality. 

The  richest  part  of  the  gift  must  be  in  that  which 
money  cannot  buy. 

A  man  can  receive  only  what  he  already  has. 
He  can  give  only  w^hat  he  can  never  lose. 

By  giving  men  often  pay  debts  and  as  often 
contract  them. 

The  greater  the  gift,  the  louder  its  call  to  be 
used   nobly. 

It  may  not  always  require  generosity  to  give; 
it  may  oft  need  grace  to  withhold. 

You  who  make  the  sacrifice  consider  the  hard- 
ship of  having  to  accept  your  sacrifice. 

Sacrifice  is  a  misnomer.     If  you   do  not  get 
something  better  in  return  you  have  made  no 



The  one  word  the  world  has  no  right  to  is — 
sacrifice.  Sacrifice  is  what  is  laid  on  the  altar,  a 
gift  to  God,  a  voluntary  return  to  Him  of  what  has 
ever  been  his,  the  loan  being  now  only  called  in. 
Sacrifice,  then,  to  be  worth  aught  must  be  made 
cheerfully,  yea  joyfully.  The  scarifice  rendered 
with  screwed  up  mouth,  after  lengthy  parleyings 
with  heaven,  is  not  yet  sacrificing,  but  only  the 
getting  ready  therefor.  It  is  the  breaking  of  the 
shell,  out  of  which  the  nut  shall  ere  long  roll  out  of 
itself  without  further  hammering. 



It  is  easier  to  live  for  men  than  with  men. 

Man  is  God's  crowning  work  in  visible  nature, 
but  even  with  the  best  of  men  we  may  at  times 
be  offended;  with  nature,  never.  Nature  offends 
not  our  self-love;  while  man,  the  more  God-like 
he  is,  the  sooner  he  offends  our  self-love. 


Men  are  meant  to  become  fountains  sending 
forth  refreshing  waters;  most  of  them  are  apt 
to  become  vortexes  drawing  in  all  the  mire  around 


Men  are  never  so  forgetful  of  what  they  should 
do  in  their  own  place  as  when  telling  what  they 
would  do  in  another's  place. 

Men   are   restless   until   they   revolve   around 
their  centre.     Most  men  create  it  for  themselves: 
the  superior  man  seeks  until  he  finds  the  one 
made  for  him. 

Men  crave  more  the  certainty  of  having  things 
than  the  things  themselves. 
Men  differ  from  themselves  only  less  than  from 
one  another. 

MEN   AND    THINGS  327 


Men  dislike  more  those  frojn  whom  they  differ 
than  they  like  those  with  whom  they  agree. 

Men  do  little  from  reason;  much  from  passion, 
and  most  from  neither. 

Men  first  seek  their  own  good;   they  then  per- 
suade themselves  that  it  is  for  the  good  of  others. 

Men    often    underestimate    themselves    con- 
sciously;   they  never    thus    overestimate    them- 

Men  own  only  what  they  use,  they  inherit  only 
what  they  give  away. 

Men  sigh  for  calm  till  they  have  it;    and  then 
they  sigh  because  it  is  calm. 

Men  view  their  own  actions  and  those  of  others 
with  the  same  telescope,  but  from  its  opposite 

Men  wear  their  plus  sign  in  front  of  them;   for 
their  minus  sign  you  have  to  look  in  their  rear. 

It  is  with  men  as  with  oranges:    the  thinner 
their  skin,  the  finer  their  flavor. 



Most  men  are  like  onions:  a  small  core  with 
a  number  of  layers':  with  what  pungency  there  is 
being  only  in  the  layers. 

Nature's  work  is  justified  by  its  results;  man's 
must  be  justified  by  his  intentions. 

Of  four  things  every  man  has  more  than  he 
knows:    of  sins,  of  debts,  of  friends,  of  foes. 

The  crystal  gets  its  lustre  and  display  of  color 
from  the  presence  of  its  corners.     Man  can  dis- 
play his  lustre  only  in  their  absence. 

The  fish  is  made  for  the  depths,  the  bird  for 
the  heights.  Man  is  made  for  both  and  for  all 
that  is  between. 


The  greater,  the  man,  the  plainer  is  his  greatness 
in  sight,  and  the  harder  it  is  seen. 


The  heart  of  man  is  made  first  for  accepting 
sorrow,  then  for  giving  love,  and  only  lastly  for 
receiving  love.  The  will  of  man  seeks  to  reverse 
this  order. 


Mankind  consists  of  the  wise,  the  foolish,  and 
the  semi-wise  (or  semi-foolish).  The  wise — 
what  little  they  do  know  they  know  that  they 
know ;  and  the  much  they  do  not  know  they  know 

MEN    AND    THINGS  329 

that  they  do  not  know.  The  fools — what  little 
they  do  know,  they  know  that  they  know;  and 
the  much  they  do  not  know  they  know  that  they 
know.  The  semi-wise,  the  vast  majority  of  folk, 
know  what  little  they  do  know,  but  are  wholly 
ignorant  of  the  much  they  do  not  know. 

The  freer  the  man  the  more  ties  he  has. 


The  merely  kind  man  gives  alms  to  the  living; 
the  delicate  man  provides  also  a  tomb  for  the 

Man  has  perhaps,  therefore,  been  given  two 
ears  that  he  might  hear  both  sides,  not  one. 


"  The  individual  must  give  way  to  the  mass!  " 
But  the  mass  consists  only  of  that  very  individual 
and  others  like  him   .    .    . 

The  least  each  can  do  is  to  add  one  more  good 
man  to  the  world;   and  yet  this  is  essentially  his 
whole  task. 

Two  men  are  not  yet  themselves :  who  has  too 
little  of  self,  who  has  too  much. 

Most  men  first  wish,  then  believe,  then  prove. 

To  be  kept  good  man  must  ever  grow  better. 



Men  can  defile  one  another,  they  cannot 
cleanse  one  another. 


Two  things  we  ere  long  find  sadly  true:  that 
every  man's  fate  is  no  more  than  he  deserves; 
that  every  man's  opportunity  comes  at  least  once 
to  him,  but  is  rarely  made  most  of. 


Two  men  are  to  be  pitied :  who  cannot  get 
what  he  ought  to  have,  who  at  last  gets  what  he 
ought  not  to  have. 


Three  things  are  needful  to  make  the  complete 
man:  to  see  things  truly,  to  estimate  their  value 
rightly,  to  use  them  properly. 


Against  mere  sand  even  the  hammer  strikes  in 


A  great  art :  to  hold  your  umbrella  in  the  direc- 
tion of  the  wind. 


A  great  fraud :  to  extract  all  the  good  and  pass 
it  off  as  a  sample  of  the  rest.  Most  reputations 
are  frauds  of  this  sort. 


A  great  landscape  can  be  seen  through  a  small 


A  great  misfortune:  for  one  person  to  need 
two  to  wait  upon  him. 

MEN   AND   THINGS  33  I 


All  thinking  men  have  the  same  chest  of 
drawers,  but  they  differ  in  the  classification  of 
their  contents. 


A  man  is  hardly  ever  as  good  as  his  own  praise 
of  himself;  he  is  nearly  always  as  bad  as  his  own 
condemnation  of  himself. 

By  two  things  a  man  is  known :  by  his  manner 
of  bestowing  praise,  by  his  manner  of  receiving 


A  man  is  seldom  his  own  best  friend,  often  his 
own  worst  enemy. 


A  man  of  narrow  views  deserves  our  pity;  the 
man  of  wide  views  needs  it. 

A  man's  faults  appear  most  in  his  presence; 
his  merits  in  his  absence. 

A  man's  shadow  seldom  disappears  with  him- 

A  miscalculation:   that  because  two  heads  are 
better  than  one,  half  a  head  is  better  than  none. 

A  man  is  not  fit  for  heaven  until  he  finds  earth 
too  small  for  him  first,  too  large  afterwards. 




A  needful  lesson  in  geography :  that  the  far  is 
reached  only  through  the  near. 


Physical  enemies  are  best  fought  at  close  range; 
spiritual,  at  long  range. 


Peace  may  be  obtained  by  yielding  to  another; 
only  strife  by  yielding  to  ourselves. 

Physicians'  houses  are  built  on  the  heads  of  the 
careless;    lawyers'   houses  on  the  heads  of  the 

Teach  men  only  what  to  think  and  they  never 
learn  how  to  think.     Teach  men  how  to  think, 
they  will  soon  learn  what  to  think. 

That  a  man's  future  is  God's  secret  is  as  it 
should  be.     That  a  man's  past  be  only  his  own 
secret  is  not  as  it  should  be. 

The  best  way  to  hear  a  man  is  to  see  him. 

The  fear  of  doing  wrong  may  keep  one  from 
doing  wrong.     The  fear  of  not  doing  right  will 
keep  one  from  doing  right. 

The  fragrance  of  the  wood  adds  naught  to  its 
heat!     Well,  mayhap  the  fragrance  was  meant 
to  save  it  from  being  used  for  mere  heat   .    .    . 

MEN   AND   THINGS  333 


The  ill  brought  on  us  by  ourselves  is  oftenest 
done  wittingly ;  and  this  is  what  makes  it  sad.    The 
ill  brought  on  us  by  others  is  oftenest  done  un- 
wittingly, and  this  is  what  makes  it  still  sadder. 
The  ill  in  folk  is  disliked  more  intensely  than 
the  good  in  them  is  liked. 

The  less  men  know,  the  harder  they  find  it  to 
believe  the  natural;  the  more  they  know,  the 
easier  they  believe  the'  supernatural. 

The  less  we  know,  the  less  we  have  to  teach; 
the  more  we  know,  the  fewer  we  have  to  teach. 

The  more  we  know  the  more  things  we  can 
believe,  the  fewer  folk  we  can  trust. 

"  The  light  attracts  those  miserable  moths!  V 
Well,  friend,  you  cannot  have  the  one  without 
the  other.    And  it  is  for  thee  to  choose :  darkness 
without  or  light  with  moths. 

The  most  can  be  known  only  of  those  of  whom 
there  is  little  to  be  known.     Who  have  much  in 
them  to  know  are  little  known  even  to  those  who 
know  them  most. 

The  greatest  difficulties  are  found  where  least 
expected;     the  greatest   successes   do  not    come 
whence  they  are  most  sought. 



The  finest  glass  can  be  broken  by  a  pebble. 

There  are  heads  that  have  an  abundance  of 
ideas  on  all  manner  of  subjects,  only  they  need 
canals  to  unite  them. 

There  are  times  when  the  least  one  can  do  is  to 
do  much;   and  the  most  one  can  do  is  to  do  little. 

On  two  occasions  I  put  my  hands  to  my  ears: 
when  the  voices  are  too  high,  when  the  tempera- 
ture is  too  low. 

There  is  more  hope  for  one  who  does  the  wrong 
thing  rightly  than  for  one  who  does  the  right 
thing  wrongly. 

The  value  of  the  coin  is  determined  by  its  metal 
and  size;  but  the  size  is  determined  by  the  metal, 
not  the  metal  by  the  size. 

The  void  of  what  we  miss  is  greater  than  the 
space  it  would  fill. 


Those  we  overestimate  cause  us  speedy  sorrow ; 
those  we  underestimate  cause  us  only  slow  regret. 

To  be  faithful  to  one's  standard  is  to  be  a  man 
of  integrity;   to  cling  only  to  one's  standard  is  to 
be  a  man  of  anarchy. 

MEN   AND   THINGS  335 


To  live  according  to  one's  own  law  is  only  an- 
other way  of  drifting  without  law. 

To   be   of   true   service   you  must   know   two 
things :  his  need,  your  capacity. 

To  see  what  is  bad  in  a  thing  you  must  possess 
it.    To  see  what  is  good  in  a  thing  you  need  only 
to  wish  to  possess  it. 

To  think  clearly  we  must  entertain  many  useless 
thoughts.    To  feel  finely,  we  need  only  one  noble 


To  use  ends  as  a  means  is  the  sin  of  the  deceiver. 
To  use  means  as  ends  is  the  sin  of  the  deceived. 

Two  men  equally  err:  who  corrects  his  watch 
by  every  clock   he  passes;   who  always  goes   by 
his  own  watch. 

Two  souls  lose  our  affection  after  gaining  it: 
who  progresses  not  with  us,  who  has  progressed 
beyond  us. 

Unlike  the  trainload  men  are  better  pushed 
than  pulled. 

We  must  laugh  as  children  and  weep  as  men. 



We  reach  out  after  that  piece  of  polish  to  grasp 
it;    and  lo,  it  is  full  of  pricks. 

What  is  bad  in  us  is  ours ;  what  is  good  in  us  is 
only  a  loan  from  above  to  become  ours  with 
interest  by  good  use  of  the  principal. 

What  is  had  to  be.    It  is  only  a  question  whether 
because  of  God's  wisdom  or  your  foolishness. 

Easy  as  it  is  to  attract   the  attention  of  the 
world;  it  is  still  easier  to  be  forgotten  by  it. 

When  others  are  deaf,  must  I  shout?     No,  I 
will  not  even  whisper. 

Who  is  all  honey  attracts  only  flies. 

Who  looks  only  downward  will  ere  long  find 
himself  walking  on  graves.     Who  looks  upward 
finds  himself  walking  under  the  stars. 

Who  never  expects  to  rise  never  will  rise.    Who 
never  expects  to  fall  will  surely  fall. 

Who  regretfully  lives  in  the  past  wastes  himself 
away.     Who   fearfully  worries   over  the  future 
wears   himself   away.      Who   thoughtlessly   lives 
only  in  the  present  fritters  himself  away. 

MEN    AND    THINGS  337 


Who   squints   sees   double,    but   not   therefore 
twice  as  much. 

Who  steps  not  upon  a  worm  will  not  tread  upon 
a  serpent. 

Who  walks  on  tiptoe  is  a  little  taller  thereby, 
but  he  touches  earth  at  fewer  points. 

Why  shall  I  admire  in  a  copy  what  I  do  not 
admire  in  the  original? 

You  may  not  always  be  better  than  others. 
You  can  always  be  better  than  yourself. 

You  who  are  so  ready  to  inform  God  of  the 
remedy  best  for  your  ailment,  tell  me — are  you 
the  physician? 

Who  wishes  to  enjoy  the  mildness  of  the  vale 
must  be  content  to  stay  below.     Who  wishes  to 
dwell  on  the  mount  must  be  ready  for  the  chill 

With  an  unwounded  hand  even  poison  may  be 
touched ;  with  a  wounded  hand  hardly  even  what 
is  not  poison. 

The  only  thing  worth  looking  into,  to  go  into 
its  very  depths,  is  a  human  soul.    Now  most  folk 
being  starved  for  the  sight  of  a  soul  contrive  to 


put  one  of  their  own  make  into  some  soulless 
thing;  with  result  indeed  of  temporary  satisfac- 
tion, but  only  to  find  ere  long  that  froth  quenches 
no  thirst,  however  much  of  liquidity  it  hath  in 

Imaginative    minds    stumble    over    analogies, 
logical  minds  over  syllogisms. 

What  men  do  not  wish  they  easily  prove  to  be 

Every  man   has   his   demon   within   him,    his 
angel  only  nigh  him .    The  demon,  to  be  conquered, 
must  be  fought.     The  angel,  to  be  driven  away, 
need  only  be  neglected. 

Every  man  is  a  binary  star  visible  as  one  to  the 
naked  eye,  but  the  telescope  soon  reveals  the  dark 
body  with  which  it  has  a  common  motion. 

Everyone  has  a  weakness,  but  it  does  not  be- 
come his  weakness  until  it  ceases  to  be  hated. 

For  doing  good  even  the  best  are  often  helpless ; 
for   doing   ill   even   the  meanest   are   ever   able 

"I  am  the  ashes  of  sandal  wood" !    If  only  you 
were  more  fragrant  than  any  other  ashes! 

MEN   AND   THINGS  339 


"I  have  power  to  disturb  thee!" — Well,  so  has 
the  mosquito.' — "I  have  power  to  destroy  thee!" 
— So  has  the  microbe. 


They  have  tied  the  tongue  of  the  bell  and  it 
cannot  ring.  Then  throw  a  stone  at  it  and  it 
will  ring. 


Things  are  best  judged  the  nearer  we  approach 
them;   men,  the  further  we  recede  from  them, 


Those  whom  we  think  worse  off  than  ourselves 
generally  are  so ;  those  whom  we  think  better  off 
are  seldom  so. 


I  read  biography  and  history  rather  than  fiction 
and  poetry  because  I  prefer  to  be  with  men  rather 
than  things,  and  to  deal  with  facts  rather  than 

It  is  easy  enough  to  live  for  the  many  beyond 
us,  the  difficulty  is  in  living  with  the  few  around 


It  is  easy  to  see  what  another  should  do  because 
we  look  at  him  as  standing  in  our  place.  But 
what  is  needed  is  for  us  to  stand  in  his. 

It  is  on  rough  paper  that  the  writing  rubs  out 



To  be  ever  preparing  for  the  storm  is  a  misfor- 
tune only  inferior  to  being  in  the  storm. 

To  do  more  than  we  need  is  to  run  the  risk  of 
doing  less. 

It  is  the  laden  bough  that  hangs  low. 

It  is  the  sweetest  wine  that  gives  the  sourest 

It  is  the  little  sticks  that  set  the  great  log  on  fire. 

'Tis  the  loaded  tree  that  is  stoned. 

It  is  not  enough  to  carry  a  compass ;   we  must 
also  keep  the  magnet  away. 

It  matters  little  how  widely  swelled  are  the 
sails,  it  matters  much  how  firm  is  the  mast. 

It  matters  not  a  little  whence  you  come,  and  it 
matters  much  where  you  are ;  but  it  matters  most 
whither  you  are  bound. 

It  may  require  years  to  keep  what  may  be  ac- 
quired in  a  moment.     It  takes  but  a  moment  to 
lose  what  it  took  years  to  acquire. 

MEN   AND   THINGS  34 1 


Know  your  own  worth — the  world  will  soon  ap- 
praise you  at  your  true  value.  Live  out  your  own 
worth — the  world  will  soon  take  you  at  your  own 


To  know  a  man  it  is  enough  that  he  visit  me; 
to  understand  him  I  must  visit  him. 

Two  cold  hands  can  rub  each  other  warm. 

Two  things  are  equally  hard:     to  speak  of  a 
man's  merits  in  his  presence  with  discretion,  to 
speak  of  a  man's  faults  in  his  absence  with  love. 

Two   things   make   a   speaker   powerful:     his 
hearers'  feelings  which  they  bring  with  them,  his 
own  doings  which  he  has  behind  him. 
2 10 1. 
Two  things  men  ever  find  easily:  the  duty  of 
others,  the  excuse  for  not  doing  their  own. 
Not  only  the  chill  from  without  mars  the  clear- 
ness of  the  pane,  but  also  the  warmth  from  with- 

Of  importance  is  not  so  much  that  something 
be  done  as  that  one  be  rightly  doing  something. 

There  are  folk  who  lament  that  they  cannot 
reach  unto  the  moon,  and  it  is  generally  those  who 
cannot  keep  even  their  feet  on  earth. 



There  are  things  one  likes  to  see  broken — they 
can  then  be  thrown  away. 

The  lover  of  goodness  cannot  but  be  a  good  man, 
the  lover  of  beauty  can  still  be  a  bad  man. 

What  is  insinuated  into  our  system  lasts  longer 
than  what  is  hammered  in.    A  screw  holds  faster 
than  a  nail. 

What  is  willingly  done  may  sometimes  have  to 
be  regretted.    What  is  reluctantly  done  has  nearly 
always  to  be  regretted. 

Where  one  is  reviled  only  one  is  to  blame ;  where 
one  is  offended,  probably  two  are  to  blame. 
While  being  done  the  mischief  seldom  seems  as 
great  as  it  is.     After  it  is  done  the  mischief   is 
seldom  as  little  as  it  seems. 
Who  begins  with  talking  much  of  self-respect 
will  end  with  acting  much  from  self -admiration. 

Who  does  right  without  being  able  to  help  it 
has  risen  to  the  height  of  man.    Who  does  wrong 
without  being  able  to  know  it  has  sunk  to  the 
depth  of  the  beast. 


Unqualified  praise  may  be  injudicious,  unquali- 
fied blame  surely  is. 

MEN   AND   THINGS  343 


Useful  we  all  must  be,  only  we  need  not  be 
mere  utensils. 


We  all  wear  the  same  garments ;  it  is  the  roads 
we  travel  that  determine  their  stains. 

We  are  vessels  without  responsibility  for  shapes 
and  sizes.    Our  part  is  only  to  keep  them  full  and 

2 1 1 7 . 
Welcome  the  day,  prize  the  hours,  respect  the 
minutes,  mind  the  seconds — and  the  eternal  years 
may  yet  be  thine. 

Were  heaven  to  rain  only  gold  pieces  we  should 
soon  note  only  the  rattle  on  the  roof. 

What  counts  against  a  man  is  not  so  much  what 
he  is  not  as  what  he  does  not  try  to  be. 

Let  earth  and  moon  war  over  the  tides  as  best 
they  may.     The  wise  mariner  runs  out  with  the 
moon  and  runs  in  with  the  earth. 

Let  it  be  proclaimed  from  the  housetops  of  the 
rich,   the  educated,   the  refined,   that   it   is   the 
higher  branches  that  are  meant  to  take  the  scorch- 
ing, and  to  shade  the  lower   .    .    . 

Men  attain  their  ends  less  through  their  own 
wisdom  than  through  the  blunders  of  others. 



Men  hear  only  what  they  understand;  they 
see  only  what  interests  them ;  they  feel  only  what 
touches  them. 


Men  learn  to  like  even  the  distasteful  bitters. 
Shall  we  then  not  learn  to  like  the  disagreeable 
duties,  which  are,  after  all,  so  many  bitter — 
tonics  ? 


Most  people's  noses  are  too  short;  their 
tongues  too  long. 


Our  eyes  are  set  in  front  rather  than  in  the  back 
of  our  heads  for  several  reasons ;  but  the  obvious 
one  is  that  we  be  looking  forward  rather  than 


Every  age  seems  to  its  saints  the  most  corrupt, 
and  this  justly.  For  every  age  is  bad  enough,  and 
theirs  is  the  worst  they  know. 


Every  generation  has  its  own  golden  calves, 
and  they  are  invariably  made  of  the  trinkets  of 
the  common  people. 


Their  religion  men  are  apt  to  use  as  they  use 
their  life  preservers:  only  during  the  wreck. 


One  of  the  most  needful  arts  is  to  know  when  to 
accomplish  most  by  doing — nothing. 

MEN   AND   THINGS  345 


One  side  can  be  heard  with  both  ears ;  both 
sides  must  be  looked  at  with  a  single  eye. 

Only  he  is  fit  to  go  to  the  top  who  can  if  need  be 
descend  to  the  bottom. 

The  greatness  of  a  soul  is  marked  by  the  amount 
it  is  first  eager  to  know,  and  then  content  not  to 


The  greater  the  man  the  more  he  sees  of  God 
without  himself,  the  less  within  himself. 

The  greater  the  man  the  more  he  is  like  the 
railway  engine:    which  varies   the   pitch   of  its 
whistle  with  the  distance  from  which  it  is  heard. 

The  only  man  of  genius  is  the  man  of  heart; 
all  else  is  cleverness,  ability  and  talent.     But  this 
is  sail  and  tackle,  not  ship.    Happy  the  case  if 
they  prove  not  to  be  mere  barnacle   .    .    . 

It  is  the  mark  of  a  great  mind  that  he  forgets 
what  the  common  mind  remembers,  and  remem- 
bers what  the  common  mind  forgets. 

To  discern  things  that  differ  shows  an  acute 
mind.    To  discern  their  good  and  evil  marks  the 
upright  mind. 



Not  a  man  but  he  is  untrustworthy  because 
the  verdict  hath  gone  forth:  There  is  none  good, 
no,  not  one.  But  it  is  the  glory  of  the  human 
heart  that  though  we  know  this  to  be  true  of 
man  we  yet  approach  folk  as  if  they  were  trust- 
worthy, and  are  highly  surprised  and  grieved  and 
even  angered  when,  true  to  their  record,  they 
disappoint  or  even  deceive  us. 

To  be  upset  by  praise  is  surely  the  mark  of 
a  small  soul ;  but  to  be  upset  by  censure  is  not  so 
surely  the  mark  that  one  is  not  a  great  soul. 

No  one  is  great  who  places  the  wrong  value 
upon  space  and  time. 

It  is  the  mark  of  a  small  soul  to  be  most  anxious 
to  give  what  is  not  in  him  to  give. 

The  wish  to  possess  not  what  we  need  but  what 
others  like  stamps  the  small  soul. 

Not  all  hunger  is  a  sign  of  want  of  food.    Not 
all  ambition  is  a  sign  of  power  to  carry  it  out. 

Not  all  closed  eyes  are  signs  of  sleep.    Not  all 
open  eyes  are  signs  of  sight. 

Folk  love  in  others  mostly  the  reflection  of 
themselves.     "  I  like  him  "  means  I  am  like  him. 

MEN   AND   THINGS  347 


A  gentleman  is  one  who  always  remembers 
others  and  never  forgets  himself. 

The  generous  man  is  he  who  feels  himself  most 
in  debt. 


Three  things  make  the  complete  man:  the 
strength  of  a  man,  the  tenderness  of  a  woman,  the 
simplicity  of  a  child. 

What  one  is  apart  from  his  environment — that 
is  he.     Unfortunately  it  is  then  that  most  folk 
prove  to  be  just  zeroes. 

The  one  little  failing  he  cannot  overcome,  the 
one  great  passion  that  overcomes  him — this  is 
after  all  the  man   .    .    . 

"  This  is  his  one  failing,  and  so  small  at  that!" 
Beg  pardon.    No  one  failing  but  causes  failure  in 
other  things ;  and  it  is  this  that  makes  the  failure 
so  great. 

"  It  is  surely  a  gigantic  passion  that  could 
master  such  gigantic  spirit!  "  Not  at  all.  The 
bull  is  controlled  not  by  huge  fetters  around  his 
limbs  but  by  the  small  ring  in  his  nose. 

One  drop  shows  the  salt  of  the  ocean,  one  deed 
shows  the  taste  of  the  man. 



One    drop    shows  the  quality    of    the    ocean, 
but   not   yet   its   extent.      One   deed   shows   the 
character  of  the  man,  but  not  yet  his  size. 

So  valuable  a  thing  is  human  goodness  that  the 
true  measure  of  life  must  after  all  be  our  moods : 
the  golden  moments  rather  than  the  brass  days, 
the  royal  hours  rather  than  the  plebeian  years. 

"  He  is  beside  himself!  "     No,  not  beside  his 
deepest    self   ... 

Only  he  is  himself  who  has  no  longer  any  self  to 


It  is  the  irony  of  life  that  though  the  heart  is 
above  the  stomach,  it  is  the  stomach  that  sup- 
ports it. 


A  man's  temperament  can  only  hinder  his  suc- 
cess, his  talent  may  even  prevent  it.  Hence,  the 
more  frequent  failure  of  the  more  gifted  than  the 
less  gifted. 


Both  the  bad  man  and  the  good  man  have  to 
be  undeceived  about  folk  by  bitter  experience. 
The  bad  man,  because  he  thinks  all  as  bad  as  he. 
The  good  man,  because  he  thinks  all  as  good  as  he. 

Character  like  the  ocean  should  be  measured 
not  by  the  height  it  attains  during  the  storm,  but 
by  the  level  it  retains  during  the  calm. 

MEN   AND    THINGS  349 


Common  sense  is  only  a  sense  of  proportion. 

Familiarity  breeds  contempt  only  for  the  noble ; 
familiarity  with  the  mean  breeds  contentment 

Few   can  tell  what  they  know  without   also 
showing  what  they  do  not  know. 

Foolish  as  is  foolish  censure,  foolish  praise  is 
still  more  so. 

For  declaring  a  thing  beautiful  the  voice  of 
one  is  enough;    for  declaring  a  thing  ugly  the 
voice  of  at  least  two  is  needful. 

Good  hearing  consists  not  so  much  in  hearing 
all  sounds  as  in  hearing  the  necessary  sounds. 

It  is  easy  to  know  a  man  from  the  manner  in 
which  he  praises;   not  so  easy  to  know  him  from 
the  manner  in  which  he  censures. 

I  used  to  be  anxious  to  accomplish  much  good 
in  the  world.    I  am  now  content  if  I  do  but  little 

Do  ill  to  men — they  will  surely  hate  you.     Do 
good  to  men — they  will  not  so  surely  love  you. 



I  used  to  have  much  faith  in  the  indiscriminate 
spread  of  knowledge  until  I  learned  that  the 
utility  of  candles  ends  at  the  powder  magazine. 

Jealousy  is  love  standing  on  its  head. 


Jealousy  consists  in  much  love  for  the  other, 
and  still  more  for  self. 

Many  are  able  to  fill  a  high  place;    few  are 
worthy  thereof. 


Nature  teaches  the  great  soul  to  shrink  from 
being  seen ;  experience  teaches  the  great  soul  to 
shrink  from  seeing. 


Next  to  the  strength  for  action,  I  pray  for  the 
strength  to  endure  inaction. 


None  are  so  unreasonable  as  those  who  always 
exact  reasonableness. 


Not  only  the  chill  from  without  mars  the 
clearness  of  the  pane,  but  also  the  warmth  from 


Of  importance  is  not  so  much  that  something 
be  done  as  that  one  be  doing  something. 

MEN    AND    THINGS  35 1 

One's  integrity  may  stand  in  the  way  of  success 
in  small  matters.     One's  lack  of  integrity  will 
stand  in  the  way  of  success  in  great  matters. 

Our  own  eyes  cost  us  little;    'tis  others'  eyes 
that  cost  us  much. 

Tact  is  momentary  love  even  for  the  common; 
taste  is  abiding  love  only  for  the  beautiful. 

Talents  are  a  man's  guard  of  honor  when  he  is 
dead;   his  prison  sentinels  while  he  is  alive. 


The    best    remedy    against    annoyance    from 
small  things  is  to  battle  with  great. 

The  cry  for  young  ministers  is  rebellion  not  so 
much  against  gray  heads  as  against  gray  hearts. 


The  envious  fire  with  an  inverted   gun :     the 
kick  goes  from  them,  the  shot  goes  into  them. . 


The  progress  of  the  soul  is  measured  as  much 
by  what  it  parts  with  as  by  what  it  acquires. 


There  are  two  ways  of  rising  above  the  water: 
by  swimming  and  by — corruption. 



The   shallow   see   aught   ridiculous   in   almost 
everything;    the  profound  in  hardly  anything. 

To  be  a  good  root,  feeling  must  be  passionate; 
to  be  its  good  fruit,  its  expression  must  be  dis- 


The  surest  way  to  reveal  your  weakness  is  to 
hide  your  motives. 


The  swollen  arm  is  not  the  stronger  for  its  size. 

The   too   serious   are   easily   forgiven,    not   so 
easily  the  too  witty. 


To  change  iron  into  gold  you  need  only  work 
it  into  hair-springs. 


To  destroy  one's  estate  it  needs  a  conflagra- 
tion; to  rob  him  of  his  peace  a  mosquito  is  enough. 

To  do  evil  that  good  may  come  is  to  climb  to 
heaven  by  way  of  hell. 

To  keep  the  medium  in  all  things  is  the  true 
mark  of  what  is  not  mediocre. 

To  shine  the  gem  must  be  polished. 

MEN    AND   THINGS  3  53 


To  know  the  good  is  not  yet  the  blessing,  to 
know  the  bad  is  already  an  injury. 

To  make  good  use  of  great  abilities  is  easy; 
the  difficulty  is  in  making   good  use  of  the  small 


To  remain  as  good  as  we  are,  we  must  ever 
strive  to  become  better  than  we  are. 

To  see  things  as  they  are  is  running  the  risk  of 
becoming  insane.     To  insist  on  having  all  things 
as  they  should  be^is  to  be  already  insane. 

Uniform  gentleness  of  manner  is  like  pure  rain 
water,  but  often  as  insipid. 

Unspeakable  bitterness :     to  arrive  at  a  piont 
where  the  stranger  is  shunned  because  he  is  not 
known;    the  acquaintance  because  he  is  known. 

While  being  done  the  mischief  seldom  seems  as 
great  as  it  is;   after  it  is  done,  the  mischief  is  sel- 
dom as. small  as  it  seems. 

Who  is  condemned  by  all  is  only  worse  off  than 
he  who  is  praised  by  all. 



Who  keeps  his  purse  in  his  pocket  does  well; 
better  he  who  puts  it  into  his  head ;  best  he  who 
deposits  it  overhead. 

Who  strikes  out  a  new  path  must  be  content  to 
be  lost. 

The    small   man   in   time    also    discovers    the 
greatness  of  man.     It  is  the  discovery  that  he 
himself  is  small  that  marks  the  great  man. 

In  knowledge  the  important  thing  is  not  so 
much  how  you  know  as  what  you  know.    In  life 
the  important  thing  is  not  so  much  what  you  live 
as  how  you  live  it. 


Patience  has  a  bitter  bark,  but  a  sweet  fruit. 

Selfishness   is   only   another   name   for   short- 


Self  love  makes  men  keen  about  others,  but 
keeps  them  blind  about  themselves. 

Sobriety  to  be  truly  divine  must  be  cheerful; 
mirth  to  be  truly  human  must  be  sober. 

The  surest  way  to  win  a  victory  is  to  push  on; 
the  surest  way  to  enjoy  it  is  to  stop  short. 

MEN    AND    THINGS  355 


To  see  a  thing  best  you  must  no  longer  see  it. 

To  understand  me  he  need  not  be  my  equal; 
but  to  misunderstand  me  he  must  be  my  inferior. 


There  is  an  eloquence  in  the  originals  that  can 
be  easily  reproduced  in  portraits,  but  there  is  an 
eloquence  in  portraits  that  is  seldom  observed  in 
their  originals. 


There  is  a  greatness  which  is  only  like  the  oasis ; 
gaining  its  distinction  from  the  desert  which  sur- 
rounds it. 


The  penalty  of  walking  among  apes  is  an  oc- 
casional cocoanut  shot  at  your  head. 

The  possession  of  what  we  need  is  comparatively 
inexpensive;    it  is  the  possession  of  what  others 
like  that  is  so  expensive. 


The  fall  itself  may  be  even  a  blessing,  at  most 
it  is  only  a  misfortune.  The  catastrophe  is  in  the 
inability  to  rise. 


To  be  happy  one  needs  to  know  but  little;  to 
be  good  he  must  know  much;  to  be  useful  he 
must  know  neither  too  much  nor  too  little. 



The  greatest  difficulties  are  apt  to  be  found 
where  least  expected,  the  greatest  successes  come 
only  after  being  much  expected. 

Two  minds  are  quickly  made  up:     the  very 
great,  the  very  small. 


Law  is  always  a  necessity;  freedom,  seldom 
more  than  a  luxury. 

Whoever  wishes  to  become  richer  is  not  yet 
rich.     Whoever  wishes  to  become  better  is  al- 
ready good. 

Two  things  will  ever  be  contradicted:    what  is 
reasonable  and  what  is  unreasonable. 

True  progress  consists  more  in  diminishing  our 
needs  than  in  increasing  our  wants. 

To  be  interested  only  in  little  things  is  the 
mark  of  a  small  soul.     To  be  interested  even  in 
little  things  is  the  mark  of  a  great  soul. 



Only  that  is  speech  which  is  better  than  silence. 

To  learn  to  speak  several  languages  is  easy; 
the  difficulty  is  to  learn  to  be  silent  in  one. 

"Bah,  bah!"  To  sneer  you  have  to  open  your 
mouth  wide.     "Hm,   hm!"   To  sympathize  you 
need  not  even  open  your  lips. 

The  more  deeply  one  feels  the  more  he  speaks ; 
the  more  profoundly  one  knows,  the  more  silent 
he  is. 

The   unspoken    word   may    yet    become    your 
servant;  the  spoken  word  is  already  your  master. 

The  silent  are  nearly  always  wrong  in  the  short 
run;  they  are  seldom  wrong  in  the  long  run. 

To  say  anything  merely  for  the  sake  of  saying 
something  is  a  sure  way  of  saying  nothing. 

Two   words   where   one  will   do   weakens   the 
effect  of  even  that  one. 



Who  says  little  has  said  enough ;  who  says  much 
has  said  but  little;  who  says  all  has  hardly  said 
anything  yet. 


Where  I  am  understood  nothing  more  need  be 
said;  where  I  am  not  understood  nothing  more 
can  be  said. 


Of  dialects  we  may  need  several ;  of  tongues  we 
need  only  one. 


We  learn  to  speak  more  from  the  use  of  our1 
ears  than  from  the  use  of  the  tongue. 


Who  does  not  learn  to  speak  from  the  use  of  his| 
ears  will  have  to  unlearn  it  from  the  use  of  his 


Men  have  two  ears — they  hear  mostly  with  one;| 
they  have  one  tongue — they  speak  mostly  with 


Long  speeches  make  short  patience. 


"Talk  is  cheap!"  Beg  pardon,  idle  talk  is  cheap, 
and  even  this  only  in  the  short  run.  All  talk  is 
dear  in  the  long  run. 


A  little  seeing  saves  much  looking;  a  little 
speaking  saves  much  talking. 

OF    SPEECH    AND    SILENCE  359 


Go  to  the  oyster,  thou  prattler,  and  learn  to  be 
useful  only  with  thy  mouth  pried  open. 

A  much  forgotten  truth:  that  light  travels  a 
millionfold  faster  than  sound. 

The  empty  cask  rattles  when  rolled.     Empty 
folk  do  not  wait  with  the  rattling  till  they  are 

Smooth  speech  does  not  betoken  a  smooth  heart, 
not  even  a  smooth  head. 

You  do  not   sweeten  your  mouth  by  saying 
honey.     You  do  not  grow  virtuous  by  talking 

To  build  up  by  your  words  what  your  deeds  are 
breaking  down  is  to  pump  by  the  cupful  into  a 
leak  by  the  barrel. 

Folk   seldom   see   with   their   own   eyes,    they 
always  speak  from  their  own  heart. 

Two  things  are  equally  hard:  to  speak  of  one's 
merits  in  his  presence  with  discretion ;  to  speak  of 
one's  faults  in  his  absence  with  love. 

In  action  we  often  need  exuberance;  in  speech 
we  can  never  dispense  with  restraint. 



Many  a  fine  sermon  doth  nature  preach 
on  the  ever-neglected  text  of  silence.  Not  the 
roaring  thunder  smites,  but  the  silent  lightning; 
and  gravity  which  bindeth  worlds  together,  and 
light  which  flasheth  from  star  unto  star,  are  ever 
silent.  Prettily  too  doth  the  silent  snow  cover 
the  ground,  and  make  it  like  a  table  spread  for  a 
feast;  unlike  the  noisy  rain  which  after  making 
goodly  puddles  quickly  runneth  off. 

There  is  a  hesitation  of  speech  more  eloquent 
than  many  a  passionate  outburst. 

To  be  misunderstood   is   easier   in  your  own 
tongue  than  in  a  foreign  one. 

Speech  may  not  always  be  wise,  but  silence  is 
never  foolish. 


Know  all  you  say,  say  not  all  you  know. 

To  be  communicative  is  nature;   art  is  to  be 
judiciously  communicative. 

To  contradict  conceit  in  order  to  instruct  it  is 
to  pour  oil  on  the  fire  in  order  to  put  it  out. 

An  argument  generally  begins  with  the  wish  of 
only  proving  that  you   are   right.     It  ends  with 
the  wish  to  prove  that  the  other  is  wrong. 



Discussion  is  about  differences,  conversation  is 
about  different  things,  talk  is  about  indifferent 


The  narrower  the  minds,  the  louder  their  dis- 
cussions; like  the  railway  trains:  the  narrower 
the  view  therefrom,  the  louder  its  rattle. 

To  enter  into  a  dispute  is  to  risk  a  double  eagle 
for  the  sake  of  gaining  a  mill. 

To  dispute  against  a  man  is  to  show  that  you 
do  not  yet  understand  him. 

Never  try  to  change  a  man  by  argument  from 
what  he  was  led  into  by  aught  else  than  argu- 

Dispute  first  hardens  the  heart,  then  darkens 
the  mind  and   deafens    the   ear;  and  last,  shuts 
the  mouth?    No,  it  only  opens  it  the  wider. 


It  is  always  vital  to  hold  right  opinions ;  not  so 
vital  always  to  uphold  them. 


It  is  the  reasons  not  given  that  are  usually 


Two  men  do  not  yet  understand  a  matter :  who 
laughs  at  it,  who  disputes  about  it. 



A  bad  government,  like  all  else  that  is  bad,  is 
sure   to   fall   sometime.     It   is   only   a   question 
whether  by  the  people  or  with  the  people. 

A  constitution  may  be  better  than  the  people 
for  whom  it  is  established,  it  is  never  any  stronger. 


Bad  laws  surely  injure.  Good  laws  benefit 
not  so  surely. 


Every  democracy  has  what  constitutes  its 
worm  membership:  takes  interest  in  public 
matters  only  when  the  inward  corruption  is  to 
come  to  the  surface.  Then  every  one  is  there  to 
vote,  to  vote  for  the  bad  thing.  These  are  the 
worms,  crawling  to  the  surface  when  it  rains: 
appearing  in  mass  when  putrefaction  has  set  in. 

In  a  democracy  it  is  like  people,  like  rulers. 
In  an  autocracy  is  it,   Like  rulers,  like  people? 
No,  it  is  still,  Like  people,  like  rulers. 

Tyranny  can  indeed  make  slavery,  but  only 
slaves  make  tyrants. 

THE    STATE  363 


During  the  French  Revolution  there  was  only 
one  man,  Napoleon;  only  one  nation  of  men, 
England.  And  the  nation  as  ever  was  too  much 
for  the  man. 


National  corruption  begins  with  the  many 
not  living  up  to  their  duties.  It  ends  with  the 
few  living  beyond  their  privileges. 

Holding  the  reins   is  not   yet   driving.     In   a 
monarchy  the  well  meaning  rulers  are  apt  to  push 
the  state,  the  incompetent  are  apt  to  drag  it. 

The  abuses  of  freedom  can  always  be  corrected 
in  freedom.     The  abuses  of  oppression  cannot  be 
corrected  in  slavery. 


The  virtues  of  a  man's  private  life  may  easily 
become  the  vices  of  his  public  life. 

It  is  by  reason  alone  that  the  errors  of  reasoning 
are  detected.     It  is  by  freedom  alone  that  the 
ills  of  freedom  are  corrected. 

It  is  with  nations  as  with  shoes :  worth  mending 
only  as  long  as  the  uppers  are  good. 

The  minority  is  always  the  real  majority:  the 
spirtual  minority  always;  the  intellectual,  often, 
the  physical  hardly  ever:  except  among  the  de- 




To  be  convicted  the  public  mind  needs  at  least 
a  hundred  arguments ;  to  be  convinced  it  may  be 
content  with  only  one  event. 

There  are  two  kinds  of  mobs :  the  leaden  and  the 
golden;  the  one  may  burn  you,  the  other  is  pretty 
sure  to  freeze  you. 


In  democracy  the  tail  ever  seeks  to  swing  the 
head,  and  if  not  successful,  then  to  sting  it. 

The  demagogue  counts  the  votes,  the  statesman 
weighs  them,  the  politician  just — gets  them. 

The  politician  appeals  to  living  men  already 
dead;  the  statesman  to  living  men  as  yet  unborn. 

Individuals  pay  for  their  extravagance  in  their 
■  own  generation;  nations  pay  for  it  also  in  the  next. 

The  population  of  the  United  States  consists  so 
far  in  these  days  of  whites  and  blacks.     But  the 
only  black  man  so  far  has  been  the  white  man. 

The  best  way  to  uncolor  the  negro's  skin  is  to 
uncolor  the  white  man's  heart. 

The  state  may  be  best  ruled  by  threats  and 
punishments;  the  individual,  by  encouragements 
and  rewards. 

THE    STATE  365 


The  wisdom  of  the  founders  of  the  American 
Republic  is  seen  in  their  laying  a  ^foundation  as  if 
for  a  tower,  though  building  for  their  imme- 
diate need  only  a  hut.  The  folly  of  their  descen- 
dants is  in  keeping  on  laying  foundations  as  if  for 
a  hut  when  actually  building  a  tower. 




Men  are  apt  to  be  liked  more  for  the  vices 
they  have  not  than  for  the  virtues  they  have. 


We  make  as  many  enemies  by  our  virtues  as 
by  our  vices.  And  if  we  have  no  enemies  we  had 
better  look  to  our  virtues. 


The  same  vices  always  unite  men,  the  same 
virtues,  not  always. 


There  are  no  petty  virtues,  and  certainly  no 
petty  vices. 


Virtues  spring  from  real  needs.  Vices  chiefly 
from  imaginary  ones. 


Repetition  makes  vice  a  habit,  virtue  only  a 
pleasure,  and  even  this  becomes  ere  long  only  a 


Vice  always  makes  men  hateful,  virtue  does 
not  always  make  them  lovable. 

Vice  deliberately  hid  is  still  vice.     Virtue  de- 
liberately displayed  is  no  longer  virtue. 

OF    VIRTUE    AND    VICE  367 


Vice    without    measure    is    only    intensified, 
virtue  without  measure  is  weakened. 

All  have  virtue;  but  rogues  have  it  in  their 
heads.     Honest  folk  have  it  in  their  hearts. 

To  seek  virtue  for  the  sake  of  happiness  is  to 
dig  for  iron  with  a  spade  of  gold. 

Who  ever  wishes  to  become  richer  is  not  yet  rich. 
Who  ever  wishes  to  become  better  is  already  good. 

A  neglected  but  highly  profitable  study:  the 
virtues  of  those  we  dislike. 

The  flower  plucked  for  enjoyment  begins  to 
wither;    virtue   practiced   for   reward    begins    to 

Many  succeed  because  of  the  virtues  they  have, 
and  as  many  because  of  the  virtues  they  have  not. 

We  cannot  live  on  last  year's  food.     We  can 
remain  virtuous  on  last  year's  virtue. 

Who  talks  much  of  sin  may  still  find  time  to 
commit  it.     Who  talks  much  of  virtue  finds  little 
time  to  practice  it. 



Virtues  repay  only  the  principal.  Vices  repay 
it  with  compound  interest. 

A  common  blunder:  mistaking  its  platform  for 
virtue  itself. 


Virtue  like  perfume  is  pleasant  only  as  long  as  it 
is  not  prominent.  When  obtrusively  strong  it 


Virtues  like  angles  must  have  their  comple- 
ments, else  they  come  nigh  being  vices.  The 
just  must  also  be  generous,  else  he  is  hard.  The 
generous  must  also  be  just,  else  he  is  soft   .    .    . 

In   their   pursuit   of   virtue,    men   may   learn 
even  from  the  miser:  who  loves  his  gold  not  for 
what  it  brings,  but  for  itself. 
Gold  on  a  farm  unbeknown  to  its  owner  is  of 
no  value  to  him.     Virtue  in  a  man  unbeknown  to 
him  is  of  much  value  to  him. 
All  pay  tribute  to  virtue :  honest  men  with  their 
hearts;  rogues,  only  with  their  heads;  the  politic 
man — who  without  being  honest  dares  not  be  a 
rogue — pays  his  tribute  only  with  his  hands. 

The  path  of  most  men  to  virtue  is  like  that  of 
the  dog  when  out  with  his  master :  forward  and 
backward  over  the  same  track;  hence  they  tire 
oft  before  the  end  of  the  journey. 

OF    VIRTUE    AND    VICE  369 


To  strive  for  virtue  is  not  yet  being  virtuous, 
but  it  is  next  to  it. 


The  defects  of  our  merits,  the  vices  of  our 
virtues,  spring  largely  from  some  overcharge  in  the 
virtue  or  merit.  Men  therefore  quarrel  with  the 
overcharge.  But  it  is  only  a  case  of  the  oil  in  the 
lamp:  of  which  there  ever  must  be  just  a  little 
more  than  the  flame  at  the  moment  requires. 

Who  leaves  his  vices  will  not  be  long  pursued 
by  them.     Who  is  left  by  his  vices  will  still  be 
long  pursued  by  them. 

The  vices  of  individuals  after  keeping  them  to- 
gether at  last  separate  them.     The  vices  of  society 
always  keep  it  together. 

The  vices  of  men  surely  keep  them  from  God, 
they  not  so  surely  keep  men  from  each  other. 



"  Help  yourself!"  Do  with  mine  as  if  yours. 
"  Help  yourself!  "  I  can  do  naught  for  you, 
carry  your  own  burden.  The  one  the  height  of 
kindness,  the  other  the  acme  of  unkindness. 
Such  are  words   ... 

Every  word  has  two  senses:  one  given  thereto 
by  the  dictionary;  the  other  put  thereon  by  our 
mood  that  is  upon  us,  the  atmosphere  about  us. 

The  thunder  that  crashes  into  our  very  ears, 
the  lightning  that  flashes  into  our  very  eyes,  the 
storm  that  lashes  o'er  our  very  heads,  sending 
us  swiftly  to  shelter  and  cover — how  fascinating 
a  spectacle  when  seen  from  the  shelter  raging 
over  others. 

In  the  Hebrew  and  the  Greek,  the  tongues  in 
which  is  writ  the  Book  of  God,  word  and  thing 
are  designated  by  the  same  word.  This  is 
Heaven's  definition  that  words  are  meant  to  be 
things.  The  relation  of  words  to  things  is  thus 
that  of  the  silver  and  gold  certificates:  currency 
accepted  as  silver  or  gold  because  the  specie  they 
represent  is  actually  in  the  vaults ;  quite  different 
from  the  ordinary  bank-notes  which  are  mere 
promises  to  pay,  without  specie  behind  them. 



Essential  and  non-essential — I  am  beginning  to 
revise  my  dictionary  here.  Is  only  the  front 
essential,  and  the  back  non-essential?  Only  the 
upper  and  not  the  under?  He  was  a  wise  as  well 
as  great  artist  who  to  the  question,  why  do  you 
finish  the  back  as  elaborately  as  the  front, 
answered:  "  Because  God  sees  the  back  also."  .  .  . 
With  God  nothing  is  inessential. 

My  impressionist  painting  friend,  my  Rodin- 
esque  sculptor  friend,  do  you  now  see  why,  though 
you  may  have  the  making  of  a  great  artist  in 
you,  you  are  after  all  a  mere  bungler  of  a  lazy, 
if  not  of  a  dishonest  artist? 

What  is  truly  done  is  beautifully  done;    and 
if  it  is  not  beautifully  done,  it  is  because  it  is  not 
yet  truly  done. 

The    attempt    to    define   unfamiliar   things    is 
proof  that  they  are  not  yet  understood.     The 
attempt  to  define   familiar   things  is  proof   that 
they  are  no  longer  understood. 

Seeing  folk  are  not  given  to  the  discussion  of 
what  is  Light;  nor  righteous  folk  to  discussing 
of  what  is  Right.  Truthful  folk  are  not  given  to 
discussing  what  is  Truth,  nor  loving  folk  to  dis- 
cussing what  is  Love?  But  those  in  darkness  are 
apt  to  query:  Light — what  is  it?  Those  who 
tamper  with  truth  are  apt  to  ask,  Truth,  yes, 
what  is  Truth?    And  incipient  heartlessness  asks 


readily  enough,  Is  it  Love  to  be  kind  alway? 
And  embryonic  rascality  shelters  itself  behind  the 
question,  What  is  right  anyhow?   .    .    . 

It  is  the  sick  that  talk  most  of  health ;  the  poor 
that  talk  most  of  wealth. 

Anatomical  dissection  is  ever  proof  that  Life 
has  already  departed.  When  Truth  is  being 
dissected,  and  folk  ask,  what  is  Truth?  they  only 
testify  to  their  loss  of  truth.  When  happiness  is 
being  dissected,  and  folk  are  asking,  what  is 
happiness?  they  may  know  comfort,  they  may, 
know  distraction,  they  may  even  know  peace, 
but  happiness  they  know  no  longer.  When  folk 
begin  to  ask  whether  it  is  never  wrong  to  tell 
untruths,  by  putting  the  question  at  all  they 
witness  that  the  lie  is  already  knocking  at  a  half 
willing  heart  with  the  assurance  that  it  will 
in  no  wise  be  indignantly  driven  away,  yea,  will 
mayhap  yet  be  installed  in  the  vacancy  left  by 
Truth  fled.  And  when  folk  betake  themselves  to 
the  discussion  of  what  Religion  is,  Christianity, 
Divinity,  it  is  time  not  for  pausing  at  the  dis- 
cussion, but  for  double-barring  the  gates  and 
locking  the  doors  against  the  sneaks  and  the 
thief s  and  the  burglars  that  are  sure  to  flock  ere 
long  to  such  forum   .    .    . 

Pure  light  has  no  color — pure  truth  has  no 
prejudice.     Pure  water  has  no  taste — pure  love 
has   no   passion.      Pure   air   has   no   odor — pure 
worship  has  no  sensuality. 



To  learn  from  all — that  is  wisdom.  To  over- 
come self — that  is  strength.  To  be  content  with 
what  you  have — that  is  riches ;  to  believe  what 
you  cannot  see — that  is  faith. 

To  be  forbearing  to  all — that  is  love.     To  be 
relentless  toward  self — that  is   justice.     To   be 
content  with  what  one  has — that  is  riches.     To 
be  discontent  with  what  one  is — that  is  piety. 

There  is  one  remedy  for  all  ills — time;    one 
balm  for  all  pain — patience;    one  peace  ending 
all  strife — death ;  one  light  for  all  darkness — hope ; 
one  fire  melting  all  hearts — love   .    .    . 

To  recognize  the  vanity  of  this  life  is  the  first 
step  toward  the  true  life.  To  perceive  our  ignor- 
ance is  the  first  step  toward  true  knowledge;  to 
acknowledge  our  folly  is  the  first  step  toward 
true  wisdom;  to  behold  our  misery  is  the  first 
step  toward  true  happiness. 


The  pessimist  looks  backward;  the  optimist 
looks  forward ;  the  theorist,  inward;  the  practical 
man,  outward;  the  good  man,  the  wise  man 
looks — upward . 


The  merely  shrewd  man  keeps  his  thoughts 
in  his  head,  the  fool  has  them  on  his  tongue; 
the  honest  man  carries  them  in  his  face,  the  kind 
man  puts  them  also  into  his  hands. 


The  first  requisite  of  the  mind  is  elasticity  and 
keenness ;  of  the  heart  steadiness  and  tenderness ; 
of  the  eye,   clearness  and  depth;    of  the  hand, 
thoroughness  and  dispatch. 


Death  is  not  the  greatest  ill ;  life  not  the  greatest 
good;   happiness  not  the  noblest  end. 

The  greatest  ill  is  to  die  without  having  lived; 
the  greatest  good,  to  live  only  after  having  died. 

The  noblest  end  is  to  fulfil  one's  part,  the  most 
precious  boon  is  to  know  one's  part. 

The   greatest    earthly   boon    is   to   be   rightly 
employed ;  it  becomes  the  greatest  earthly  blessing 
when  one  is  also  cheerful  at  it. 

The  greatest  earthly  blessing  is  congenial  useful 
work  in  health;   and  if  this  is  not  to  be  had,  then 
thankful  endurance  of  illth. 


A  necessity  is  what  we  cannot  afford  to  miss, 
a  luxury  is  what  we  can  afford  to  lose.  We  can 
afford  to  lose  our  lives,  we  cannot  afford  to  miss 
our  duties. 


Duty  is  conforming  thyself  to  Universe,  happi- 
ness is  conformity  of  Universe  to  thyself.  By  all 
means,  therefore,  set  thine  heart  upon  happiness 
if  assured  indeed  of  Universe  conforming  to 


Only  he  is  free  who  is  a  slave  to  duty. 

Who  does  his  duty  only  has  not  yet  done  it. 

Only  he  is  good  enough  who  is  more  than  just 
good  enough. 

Folk  call  enough  as  much  as  they  need,  but 
they  are  mistaken :  one  never  has  enough  until 
he  has  just  a  little  more  than  enough. 

The  higher  the  bell  is  hung  the  clearer  its  tone 
to  those  below;   the  loftier  the  man,  the  obscurer 
his  speech  to  those  beneath. 

The  wider  the  man  the  narrower  his  place. 

The  greatest  men  are  like  the  bells:    which 
never  give  their  sweetest  tones  to  those  nearest 
to  them. 

In  every  one  there  is  strife  betwixt  flesh  and 
spirit.    But  in  the  common  it  is  flesh  that  lusteth 
against  the  spirit;    in  the  uncommon  it  is  the 
spirit  that  lusteth  against  the  flesh. 

When  the  natural   in  man  has   risen  to   the 
spiritual,   and  the  spiritual  has  to  him  become 
natural — then  indeed  has  he  reached  his  goal. 



Folk  pride  themselves  upon  being  a  unit,  but 
the  one  thing  that  characterises  man  is  that  no 
unity  is  in  him.  Every  one  has  at  least,  two 
men  in  him.  Happy  he  who  finds  in  himself  only 


Folk  think  themselves  fiddlers  designed  to 
improve  by  playing.  They  are  only  fiddles  de- 
signed to  improve  by  being  played  upon. 

Folk  think  they  grow  old  by  living;    but  they 
grow  old  rather  b}^  not  living. 

Folk  think  they  can  gain  aught  at  another's 
expense,  but  true  gain  is  only  at  our  own. 

I  dislike  the  commercial  streak  in  "  It  is  better 
to  be  right  than  safe."    It  is  good  to  be  right  and 
it  is  good  to  be  safe.    But  it  is  idle  to  build  a  canal 
between  goodness  and  safety. 

There  is  only  one  aristocracy,  and  it  is  as  old 
as  Paradise,  as  wide  as  the  earth,  and  as  enduring 
as  the  race :  the  aristocracy  of  talent  and  goodness. 

The  definition  of  man  as  a  biped  without  wings 
was  instantly  rebuked  by  producing  a  plucked 
fowl.  But  the  definition  is  untrue  in  spirit  as  well 
as  in  letter.  All  have  wings,  only  men  first  fail 
to  use  them,  and  then  forget  how  to  use  them. 



The  righteous  are  called  stars  in  Scripture, 
never  comets.  They  are  meant  to  shine  and  be 
steady,  not  be  dragging  a  giant  tail  behind  a 
pigmy  head. 


The  small  soul  lives  itself  in,  the  great  soul 
lives  itself  out. 


The  small  soul  also  in  time  discovers  the  great- 
ness of  man.  It  is  the  discovery  that  he  himself 
is  little  that  marks  the  great  man. 

To  be  interested  only  in  little  things  is  the  mark 
of  a  small  soul.     To  be  interested  even  in  little 
things  is  the  mark  of  a. great  soul. 

To  have  many  desires  is  the  mark  of  the  small 
mind.     To  have  but  one  longing  is  the  mark  of 
a  great  soul. 

The  great  man  is   at  home  only  among  his 
equals.    What  makes  the  small  man  is  that  he  is 
at  home  also  among  his  inferiors. 

The  difference  between  the  great  soul  and  the 
small  is  that  while  both  defy  conventional  law, 
the  one  does  it  according  to  the  higher  law;    the 
other  according  to  his  own  law. 

Not  to  wish  to  be  improved  even  by  oneself 
is  the  mark  of  the  fool.     Not  to  wish  to  be  im- 


proved  by  others  is  the  mark  of  a  small  mind. 
To  cease  at  last  wishing  to  improve  others  is  the 
mark  of  a  great  mind. 

The   test   of   greatness   is   how  it   deals   with 
littleness.     The  proof  of  littleness  is  that  it  deals 
only  in  one  way  with  greatness. 

To  deal  with  small  men  without  growing 
thereby  smaller  yourself;  to  deal  with  large  folk 
without  their  growing  thereby  smaller  to  you; 
to  deal  with  both  large  and  small  without  losing 
the  true  estimate  of  either — this  is  greatness. 

Two  marks  of  a  royal  soul:    to  be  never  in  a 
hurry,  to  be  ever  on  time. 

The  foundation  of  all  greatness  is  a  large  faith : 
its  working  power — a  still  larger  hope ;  its  noblest 
fruit — an  inmeasurable  love. 

Avarice  is  thrift  gone  to  waste. 

The  bigot  is  one  who  can  see  no  beauty  in  the 
sunset  because  sometime  in  the  day  the  sun  has 
been  uncomfortably  warm. 

Foolhardiness  is  unsuccessful  bravery. 

Celebrity  is  being  known  mostly  to  folk  one 
little  cares  to  know. 



"  I  cannot  "  on  the  tongue  means  mostly  "  I 
will  not  "  in  the  heart. 

Chance  is  the  name  given  to  our  ignorance  of 


Character  is  will  put  into  shape. 

Climbing  is  upward  creeping. 

Condemnation  is  a  kind  of  ignorance;    harsh- 
ness is  a  kind  of  cowardice. 


The  coward  is  he  who  fears  not  what  is  danger- 
ous, but  what  is  not  dangerous. 

Delusion  is  anemia  of  spirit;    fanaticism  is  its 
plethora.      The    one    accordingly   perishes    from 
starvation;  the  other  dies  from  apoplexy. 

Despondency  is  enthusiasm  upside  down. 

Dissipation  is  pleasure  to  the  straining  point. 

Doubt  is  the  tax  paid  for  useless  knowledge. 



Egotism  is  occupation  with  self;  selfishness  is 
occupation  for  self.  Egotism  is  content  to  be 
occupied  alone  with  self.  Selfishness  is  not  con- 
tent till  it  sees  others  also  occupied  for  oneself. 

Fanaticism  is  truth  alcoholised. 

Flattery  is  homage  to  a  spirit  not  yours. 

Forgiveness  is  the  crown  of  justice. 

Not  he  is  free  who  can  do  what  he  wishes,  but 
who  wishes  only  what  he  can  do. 

Only  he  is  free  who  is  a  slave  to  duty. 

Gossip  is  putting  two  and  two  together  and 
making  it  five.     Slander  is  putting  two  and  two 
together  and  still  leaving  it  two. 

Harmony  is  only  proper  relation :  perceived  by 
sense  it  is  beauty;    by  intellect,  it  is  truth;    by 
feeling,  it  is  love. 


History  is  not  fable  agreed  upon,  but  truth 
disagreed  upon. 


The  idealist  is  one  whose  wings  are  developed 
at  the  expense  of  his  feet. 



Incense  is  smoke  with  a  reputation. 

Insanity  is  incompetent  eccentricity.     Genius  is 
eccentric  competency. 

Law  is  systematized  common  sense,  with  the 
system  but  too  often  prevailing  over  the  common 


Laziness  is  stupidity  of  will.     Anger  is  stupidity 
of  heart. 


Obstinacy  is  the  mask  under  which  weakness 
hides  its  lack  of  strength. 

What  is  a  pearl  but  the  momentary  beauty  of 
a  drop  of  water  in  sunshine  made  permanent? 


The  rainbow  is  only  rain  permeated  with  sun- 

Pity  is  already  half  piety,  but  only  half. 

Only  he  possesses  a  thing  truly  who  under- 
stands it. 


Repentance    is    doubling    one's    track    upon 
oneself,  but  not  for  the  sake  of  deceiving. 



Fame  is  reputation  in  finery  when  one  is  still 
alive,  or  in  a  tomb  when  one  is  already  dead. 
Notoriety  is  reputation  in  rags. 

The  optimist  is  one  who  refuses  to  look  at  the 
wind  until  he  sees  it  a  gale. 


The  pessimist  is  one  who  has  had  more  exper- 
ience than  is  good  for  him,  the  optimist  is  one 
who  has  not  yet  had  experience  enough. 


To  see  the  good  nowhere — that  is  pessimism, 
and  this  is  easy.  To  see  the  good  everywhere — 
that  is  optimism,  and  this,  too,  is  not  difficult. 
But  to  behold  the  ill  everywhere,  yet  ever  to  find 
the  good  somewhere — this  is  sobriety,  and  this 
is  in  no  wise  easy. 


The  pessimist  is  one  who  first  chews  the  pills 
he  was  only  to  swallow,  and  then  settles  down  in 
the  tunnel  through  which  he  was  only  to  pass. 

The  originality  of  the  past  is  the  commonplace 
of     the     future.       Someone's     whilom     brilliant 
thought  is  only  today's  proverb. 

Passion  possesses  the  soul,  devotion  fills  it. 

True  resignation  is  strength   of   soul  yielding 
with  a  smile. 



Reverence  is  the  soul  on  its  wings. 

To  be  even  more  than  half  right  is  still  to  be 
altogether  wrong. 


To  be  wrong  in  one  thing  means  to  be  wrong 
in  many  more. 


Rudeness  is  cruelty  with  the  label  off. 

Rumor — a  stuffed  bird  with  live  wings. 

Selfishness    is    only    another    name    for    short 

Sentimentality    is    sentiment    without    depth; 
it  becomes  cant  when  it  is  also  without  truth. 

Sighs  are  the  zephyrs  that  waft  us  heavenward. 

Stupidity  is  only  laziness  of  mind ;   folly  is  also 
disease  of  heart. 

Suspiciousness  is  the  formation  of  the  cataract ; 
hatred  is  its  completion. 

A  truism  is  dessicated  truth,  a  commonplace  is 
withered  originality. 

Worry  is  wasted  forethought;   regret  is  wasted 



Most  men  are  mere  tendencies  all  their  lives. 
It  is  the  mark  of  a  man  of  genius  that  he  is  an 
accomplished  fact  from  the  moment  he  is  born. 

The  test  of  meekness  is  more  in  the  manner  in 
which  blame  is  received  than  praise. 

The  faults  of  the  great  are  best  seen  while  they 
live;    their  merits  when  they  are  dead.     Fire  is 
beholden  by  night  from  its  flame,  by  day  from 
its  smoke. 

The  highest  enthusiasm  is  not  so  much  like  the 
glowing  furnace;  rather  like  the  volcano,  glowing 
within  may  be  ice-clad  without. 

All  vulgarity  is  essentially  an  overestimate  of 
self,  an  underestimate  of  others:  which  two  are 
the  front  and  rear,  the  upper  and  the  under  of  the 
same  vice.  Hence,  meekness  is  the  first  virtue  of 
man,  as  conceit,  the  vulgar  form  of  pride,  is  his 
first  vice.  And  as  in  carpentering,  who  has  done 
much  therein  is  authority  against  him  who  has 
done  naught  therein;  as  in  love  who  hath  loved 
much  is  authority  against  him  who  has  loved  not 
at  all  or  little — so  in  religion,  which  is  the  science 
and  art  of  walking  with  God,  who  hath  walked 
with  God  is  authority  against  him  who  hath  not 
so  walked.  For  the  non-carpenter  to  dispute 
about  his  trade  with  the  carpenter  is  an  imperti- 
nence manifest  to  all.  But  even  the  otherwise 
courteous  sceptic,  how  insensitive  is  he  here  to  his 


own  boorishness!  Your  Socinian,  who  knows 
naught  of  my  Christ — how  ready  he  to  lecture 
me  out  of  my  Lord  and  God,  and  to  scorn  me  as 
superstitious  because  I  cleave  to  Him  who  hath 
been  tested  so  oft  and  found  true! 

The  vulgar  man  has  no  heroes,  no  reverence, 
not  even  admiration — this  is  his  vulgarity.  The 
common  man,  capable  of  reverence,  has  some  ad- 
miration, only  he  looks  upon  large  folk  with  a 
minifying  glass,  upon  small  folk  with  a  magnifying 
glass— this  is  his  commonness. 

To  look  for  faults  sooner  than  merits,  to  look  at 
faults  longer  than  at  merits — this  is  vulgarity. 

There  is  no  such  thing  as  an  accurate,  exhaustive 
definition  of  anything.    The  nearest  one  can  come 
to  here  is  to  furnish  aught    definite  about  the 
thing  to  be  defined. 

The  truly  great  are  for  a  long  time  unknown, 
for  much  of  the  time  misknown,  and  only  seldom 

Our  actions  influence  our  reasons  more  than 
our  reason  influences  our  actions. 

Nothing  keeps  so  much  from  delusion  as  activ- 
ity, and  nothing  keeps  so  much  in  delusion. 



Much  of  advice  asked  is  only  approbation 


Much  advice  is  given  from  indulgence  to  others ; 
more  from  indulgence  to  ourselves. 

It  needs  much  wisdom  to  take  advice,  and  more 
to  give  it;  but  most  to  abstain  from  giving  it. 

I  like  about  the  air  specially  these  two  things: 
though  ever-present  it  is  never  in  the  way  and 
seldom  obtrudes;  though  reaching  unto  the  heav- 
ens it  lets  itself  be  breathed  even  by  the  worm  .  .  . 

To   be   ever   alone   in   the   chamber   is   bitter 
enough;  but  not  so  bitter  as  to  be  ever  alone  in 
the  crowd. 

A  not  ignoble  ambition:  to  be  if  even  only  a 
mote  in  the  sunbeam. 


Viewed  from  the  mountain  top,  the  oak  is  as 
slight  as  the  shrub:  only  rise  high  enough,  and 
the  highest  ambition  appears  as  small  as  the 
petty  desire. 


The  ambition  to  rule  is  not  ignoble,  neither  is 
the  ambition  to  please.  But  the  ambition  to 
rule  by  pleasing  is  ignoble.  Noble  is  only  the 
ambition  to  please  by  ruling. 



The  anarchist  is  often  such  from  sheer  dislike 
of  lawlessness,  and  the  real  anarchist  is  as  often 
the  excessive  stickler  for  the  law  as  the  deliberate 
defier  thereof. 


Once  in  a  life  time  the  angels  knock  at  every 
one's  door,  but  always  first  in  beggar's  guise. 

Th  e    question    whether    one    should    ever    be 
angry  is  an  academic  one.     The  vital  question  is 
whether  there   is   anything   at   all  worth   being 
angry  about. 

The  best  remedy  against  annoyance  from  small 
things  is  to  battle  with  great. 

No  answer  is  also  an  answer. 

Silence  is  seldom  a  good  answer,  but  often  the 
best  answer. 


The  best  answer  to  an  inconvenient  question  is 
asking  another. 

Gain  first  thine  own  approval,  that  of  others 
will  follow. 


We  may  seldom  be  able  to  do  one  great  deed 
in  a  day,  and  not  oft  may  it  be  given  us  to 
think  one  great  thought  in  a  day,  but  at  least 
one  high  aspiration  we  may  have  every  day. 



Ready  habitual  assent  in  Conversation  is  a  mark 
of  a  weak  head  or  corrupt  heart.  Ready  habitual 
contradiction  is  a  mark  of  both. 

To  attract  attention  it  needs  only  the  bark  of 
a  dog;  to  repay  it  it  must  be  the  song  of  the 

For  the   dog   to   bark   is   proper — that   is   his 
nature.     It  becomes  conceit  when  he   thinks  his 
bark  is  music. 

To  behold  the  beautiful  without  becoming  the 
more  beautiful  for  it  yourself  is  to  become  less  so. 

Simple   and   appropriate — the   essence   of   the 
highest  beauty. 

I  used  to  lament  the  deceitfulness  of  beggars 
until  I  had  reason  to  fear  that  but  for  them  I 
would  be  guilty  of  giving  the  honest  beggar  too 


To  make  the  best  of  a  bad  day  is  to  make  it 
a  good  day. 


Even  the  best  of  folk  have  the  coarse  occasion- 
ally circulating  within  them ;  but  what  marks  them 
as  the  best  is  that  like  the  sieve  they  withhold 
the  coarse  and  let  through  only  the  fine. 



Extravagant  praise  is  a  sign  of  power,  but 
misdirected.  Extravagant  blame  is  seldom  a 
sign  of  aught  but  impotence. 

It  is  easy  to  know  a  man  from  the  manner  in 
which  he  praises,  not  so  easy  to  know  him  from 
the  manner  in  which  he  censures. 

Not  he  is  blind  who  cannot  yet  see,  but  who 
can  no  longer  hear. 

Their  own  blindness  men  ascribe  to  Fortune. 

There  is  a  boldness  natural  to  ignorance,  there 
is  a  timidity  natural  to  knowledge;  there  is  a 
blindness  peculiar  to  strength,  there  is  a  sight 
peculiar  to  weakness. 

Nothing  discolors  blue  blood  so  readily  as  the 
application  of  biblical  scarlet. 

Others'  blunders  men  measure  by  their  results; 
their  own,  by  their  intentions. 

The  blush  in  the  face  betokens  the  purity  of 
the  heart,  and  alas!  also  its  shame. 



Men  are  ruined  by  borrowing,  and  as  rmicii 
borrowing  ideas  as  money. 



Both  the  borrower  and  the  lender  are  apt  to 
lose  in  the  transaction.  But  the  lender  loses 
only  his  money  along  with  his  friend;  the  borrower 
loses  also  his  self-respect. 

The  highest  bravery  is  to  be  a  martyr;  the 
next  highest  is  to  confess  one's  incapacity  for 
becoming  a  martyr. 


It  is  the  unseen  burdens  that  are  carried, 
I  was  about  to  say  the  lightest;  but  no,  they  are 
really  carried  the  heaviest. 


The  only  effectual  Thou  shalt  not  is  Thou  canst 
not.  The  only  effectual  Thou  canst  is  Thou 


When  a  weak-minded  person  does  not  wish  to 
do  aught  he  says  ,'T  can  not  do  it."  The  strong- 
minded  says:  "I  must  not  do  it."  The  one  lays 
the  impossibility  to  the  weakness  of  the  flesh 
which  is  real;  the  other  to  strength  of  spirit — 
which  is  not  so  real. 

The  cards  are  badly  shuffled  only  when  we 
have  a  bad  hand. 

It  is  the  chains  that  do  not  rattle  that  hold 
the  fastest. 



Chance  has  three  suitors:  one  waits  for  it, 
and  is  apt  to  miss  it;  another  takes  it,  and  is 
apt  to  lose  it;  a  third  makes  it,  and  generally 
wins  it. 


Riches  may  be  due  to  fortune;  beauty,  to 
parents,  but  character  you  owe  only  to  yourself. 

To  do  great  things  we  must  indeed  learn  to  do 
small  things ;  but  the  surest  way  to  unfit  yourself 
for  what  is  great  is  to  be  ever  engaged  in  what  is 

A  straight  line  cannot  be  determined  from  only 
one  point.     Character  may  be  determined  from 
only  one  deed. 

Seldom   does   one   show  his  true   character  so 
much  as  when  bestowing  praise  or  blame. 

We  constantly  pray  to  have  our  circumstances 
changed.    But  what  are  we  to  do  with  new  circum- 
stances that  are  strange,  when  we  know  not  how 
to  get  on  with  the  old  that  are  familiar? 

The  rundown    clock    deceives  as  much  by  its 
having  been  right  before  as  by  being  wrong  now. 


Twice  in  twenty-four  hours  even  the  stopped 

clock  points  aright:  once  by  day,  and  once  by 

night.     Twice  a  day  even  a  fool  may  be  deemed 

wise:  When  silent  by  day,  when  asleep  at  night. 



In  clouds  we  must  all  be.  It  is  only  a  question 
whether  in  the  end  we  shall  find  ourselves  above 
them  or  below  them. 


The  common  man  dislikes  evil  because  of 
what  it  does.  The  uncommon  man  hates  evil 
because  of  what  it  is. 


The  common  man  is  interested  only  in  what  is 

on  his  own  level ;  the  intelligent  man  is  interested 

also  in  what  is  above  his  level.     Only  the  kindly 

man  is  interested  also  in  what  is  below  his  level. 

The   common   mind   appreciates   hardly   even 
the    great    things,    the    great   mind    appreciates 
even  the  little  things. 

Common  sense  derives  its  name  not  from  its 
own  commonness,  but  from  that  of  the  things 
it  is  exercised  upon. 

To  be    communicative    is    nature;   to    be    ju- 
diciously communicative  is  art. 

The  misfortune  is  not  in  being  born  incom- 
petent— all  are  born  thus.  The  misfortune  is  in 
remaining  incompetent  when  we  might  be  other- 
wise, in  deeming  ourselves  competent  when  we 
are  otherwise. 

The  only  noble  competition  is  with  oneself. 



Four  things  are  required  of  the  complete  man: 
an  orderly  mind,  a  steady  will,  a  patient  temper, 
a  loving  heart. 


The  highest  compliment  is  imitation,  and  this 
can  be  paid  unconsciously ;  the  lowest  is  flattery, 
and  this  is  paid  only  consciously. 

Who  has  too  much  confidence  in  himself  may 
yet  succeed,   who  has  too  much  in  others  will 
surely  fail. 

What   concerns  us  and  what  concerns  us  not 
we  do  not  see  alike.     The  one  we  behold  as  the 
headlight  of  a  train  rushing  toward  us ;  the  other 
as  the  end  of  a  train  departing  from  us. 

Why    shall    I    conform  to    fashion?        It  was 
adopted  in  my  absence. 


It  is  the  dead  fish  that  are  carried  down  the 


To  conquer  a  matter  is  as  often  to  lose  it  as 
to  win  it. 


Conscience  is  our  only  part  whose  health  is 
proved  by  its  pains. 


Few  like  the  responsibility  of  their  own  con- 



Antinomies  of  mind — only  theorists  know  them. 
Antinomies  of  conscience — happy  the  practical 
soul  that  has  not  to  know  them. 

Man  has  nothing  in  himself  that   is   wholly 
trustworthy,    not   even   his   conscience;   that   is 
only  the  least  untrustworthy. 

Conscience,  compass  of  the  soul,  is  herein  like 
the  compass  of  the  ship  in  that  it  too  may  point 
wrong  if  its  magnet  be  high  enough  or  powerful 
enough.  And  the  disturbance  is  all  the  more 
mischievous  when  in  addition  the  magnet  is 
out  of  sight.  There  is  thus  an  aberration  of 
conscience,  as  there  is  an  aberration  of  light,  of 
mind,  of  what  is  called  the  personal  equation. 
Overuse  also  of  conscience,  as  in  all  else,  may  be- 
come abuse,  with  confusion,  morbidness,  in  its 
train.  By  being  allowed  more  than  its  due  it 
becomes,  like  the  swollen  arm,  only  weaker 
for  its  size.  Conscience  should  preside,  not 
tyrannize;  rule  not  hold  despotic  sway.  A  healthy 
conscience  has  regard  for  other  things  beside 
itself:  for  age,  conditions,  atmosphere. 


Conscience  is  an  automatic  bell:  the  more  it 
is  heeded  the  louder  it  rings;  unheeded  it  at  last 
ceases  to  ring.  But  with  the  answer  to  the  bell 
at  the  door,  the  part  of  conscience  ends.  Con- 
science tells  that  some  one  is  at  the  door,  it  does 
not  yet  tell  as  to  his  admission  into  the  house. 
That  you  must  see  for  yourself.     It  may  be  the 


welcome  guest;  it  may  be  only  the  book-agent, 
the  peddlar. 

It  is  important  to  do  the  right,  but  as  important 
to  do  it  right.  Now  conscience  tells  to  do  the 
right.  It  does  not  always  tell  how  to  do  it  right. 
And  to  do  the  right  wrongly  is  only  less  harmful 
than  to  do  the  wrong  rightly. 

Conscience  is  the  best  guide  we  have,  but  it  is 
not  good  enough  unless  certified  of  God  in  His 
Book.  The  individual  check  is  good,  but  its 
final  safety  is  secured  only  when  certified  to  by 
the  bank. 

As  good  taste  at  times  requires  that  one  insist 
not  on  the  best  of  taste,  so  the  right  oft  requires 
that  one  insist  not  on  the  strictest  right.  None 
are  so  unreasonable  as  those  who  always  insist 
on  reasonableness.  And  none  so  easily  fall  into 
wrong  as  those  who  ever  insist  on  the  exact 
right.  Here,  as  elsewhere,  as  in  metaphysics, 
science,  the  caution  must  ever  be:  "Gentlemen, 
above  all,  not  too  exact!"  .  .  . 

To  go  against  one's  conscience  is  surely  wrong. 
To  go  according  to  one's  conscience  is  not  neces- 
sarily right. 


A  simple  recipe  for  contentment :  to  remember 

that  the  years  consist  of  summers  and  winters; 

that  the  weeks  are  made  up  of  days  and  nights; 

that  the  days  bring  only  sunshine  and  shadow. 


Two  things  will  ever  be  contradicted:  what  is 
reasonable  and  what  is  unreasonable. 


Conversation  is  a  constant  attempt  to  discover 
and  establish  harmony  between  the  speakers. 
When  that  is  done  conversation  ends  and  fellow- 
ship begins. 


Folk  think  that  conversation  is  the  great  end 
of  society.  It  is  only  its  great  means.  When 
the  final  level  between  folk  is  found,  conver- 
sation becomes  needless,  and  silence  between 
them  becomes  equally  enjoyable. 

Who  wishes  to  convince  himself  may  begin  with 
doubting,   who  wishes  to  convince  others  must 
end  with  affirming. 


To  be  a  copy  of  others  may  make  you  better, 
to  be  a  copy  of  yourself  surely  makes  you  worse. 

The  worst  that  can  be  said  of  one  is  that  he  is 
a  copy  of  some  one  else.     And  yet  most  folk  are 
either  bad  copies  of  others  or  still  worse  originals. 

The  worst  corruption  is  that  of  the  best. 

The  only  legitimate   covetousness   is   that   of 
another's  virtues. 



Even  the  brave  man  may  run  from  danger, 
the  coward  runs  also  from  duty. 

Only  who  walks  into  danger  can  afford  always 
to  run  from  it. 

Into  danger  it  is  best  to  walk,  through  danger 
it  is  best  to  run. 

The  critic  must  have  two  things:  an  eminence 
to  stand  on,  a  flag  to  stand  by. 

Weeds  grow  of  themselves,  crops  must  be  hoed. 

The  lack  of  culture  is   shown  by  two   combi- 
nations: open  mouth  and  closed  eyes;  hot  head 
and  cold  heart. 

Culture  is  valued  because  of  its  increased  sen- 
sitiveness, openness  to  more  pleasures:  can  now 
enjoy  Browning's  verse,  Wagner's  music,  Im- 
pressionist painting,  Rodinesque  sculpture,  Cub- 
ists' puzzles.  But  what  about  the  decreased 
sense  at  the  other  end,  the  closedness  to  other 
pleasures?  Culture  can  no  longer  enjoy  the 
nursery  rhymes,  the  rag-time  strains,  playing  tag, 

and  merry-go-round  rides You  smile, 

dear  reader?  But  the  whole  problem  of  human 
knowledge  and  happiness  is  wrapped  up  in  this 
simple  question. 


^538.        . 

To  express  our  feelings  is  nature,  to  understand 
the  feelings  of  others  is  culture. 

To  see  the  most  in  the  world,  to  get  the  most 
out  of  the  world,  to  leave  behind  you  the  best 
of  yourself  in  the  world — that  is  culture. 

The    highest    culture    is    attained  by  learning 
first  from  the  living,  then  from  the  dead,   and 
then  from  both. 


It  is  the  good  customer  that  has  to  pay  for 
the  bad. 


Even  the  cypher,  worthless  at  the  head,  ten- 
folds  a  number  when  it  takes  the  rear. 

Cyphers  can  also  stand  at  the  head,  but  only 
of  fractions. 

There  are  two  kinds  of  darkness:  the  one  due 
to    the    absence    of   light — the    darkness    of   the 
ignorant,  the  low;  the  one  due  to  the  interception 
of  light — the  darkness  of  the  learned,  the  high. 

2545. . 
There  came  a  time  when  the  chief  characteristic 
of  the  Holy  Roman  Empire  was  that  it  was 
neither  Holy,  nor  Roman,  nor  an  Empire.  Those 
were  its  darkest  days.  There  comes  a  time  in 
the  life  of  every  sober  soul  when  he  is  neither 
himself,  nor  alive,  and  is  thus  anything  but  sober. 
Those  are  its  darkest  days.  .  .  . 



Howe'er  retired  you  live  you  cannot  escape 
being  a  debtor. 


He  deceived  me — that  was  his  triumph.     But 
he  has  also  undeceived  me — that  is  my  triumph. 

None  deceive    so    successfully     as     the     self- 

Nothing    so    tiring    as    decisions,    nothing    so 
restful  as  decision. 

Our  good  deeds  are  the  feathers  which  make 
us  wings. 

The   inability    to    suffer   because    of   the    evil 
around  us  marks  one  who  is  already  degenerate. 
The  inability  to  bear  the  evil  around  us  marks 
one  about  to  become  degenerate. 

The  most  delicate  web  becomes  coarse  under 
the  microscope. 

The   desire  to  be  known  is  proper  to  man; 
only  it  must  be  after  one  knows,  not  before. 

In  helplessness  one  can  yet  do  even  his  best 
work;  in  hopelessness  one  can  yet  do  at  least 
some  good  work,  but  in  despair  one  can  only  do 
his  worst. 


Despondency  and  enthusiasm  express  the  same 
quality,  but  with  opposite  algebraic  signs  in  front. 

Despondency  is  enthusiasm  upside  down. 

There   is   no   objection   to   despotism — of   the 
right  sort.     Truth  is  despotic,  so  is  reason,  so 
is  duty. 

"The    science    of    mind    has    dethroned    the 
devil!"      No,  friend,  it  has  only  enthroned  him 
more  firmly. 


The    diamond    is    easily    changed    into    coal; 

the  coal  is  changed  into  diamond  only  at  a  cost 

greater  than  the  diamond — a  branch  of  Chemistry 

to  be  studied  with  special  profit  by  the  — critics  .  .  . 

Who  differ  from  us  are  easily  endured,  not  so 
easily  who  differ  with  us. 

The  wish  to  be  different  from  what  you  are 
generally   means    that    you   wish    to    be   better. 
The  wish  to  be   different  from  where  you  are 
generally  means  that  you  wish  to  be  worse. 

Discontented  all  must  be.     Only  the  good  are 
not   content   with   what   they   do;   the   bad   are 
discontented  with  what  they  ought  to  do. 



Discoveries  are  made  as  much  thro'  the  micro- 
scope as  thro'  the  telescope. 

To  be  ill  with  the  same  disease  as  some  one 
else  is  not  indeed  health,  but  it  is  a  kind  of  help. 

The  sight  of  a  monster  is  remembered  longer 
than  that  of  a  beautiful  creature.     Dislike  has  a 
longer  memory  than  like. 

I  used  to  lament  the  much  I  wished  to  do  but 
could  not  do.     I  now  lament  the  little  I  ought 
to  do  but  cannot  do. 

I  used  to  be  anxious  to  accomplish  much  good 
in  the  world.     I  am  now  content  if  I  am  kept 
from  doing  harm. 

All    other    occupations    become    easier    with 
practice.     Doing  nothing  is  the  only  occupation 
that  grows  harder  with  practice. 

The  dollar  becomes  of  final  value  only  when 
about  to  be  parted  with.     Sad  type  of  the  value 
men  set  upon  most  of  their  blessings. 

Doubt  as  a  stage  is  taking  a  bath  in  the  sea. 
Remaining  a  doubter  is  to  be  drowned  therein. 



The  only  drawback  to  a  man's  good  piece  of 
work  is  that  it  draws  after  it  also  many  a  poor 
piece  of  his. 


Few  of  men's  ills  are  due  to  their  wickedness; 
many  to  their  dullness.  Unfortunately  dullness 
ere  long  makes  for  wickedness. 

A  genius  one  can  hardly  be  in  more  than  one 
thing,  a  dunce  one  may  easily  be  in  many  things. 

Every  speck  of  dust  is  big  with  infinity. 

Dust   blown   to   heaven   is   still   dust,    a   star 
fallen  to  earth  ceases  to  be  a  star. 

You  can   do.  another's  work,   you  cannot   do 
another's  duty. 

One  place  is  ever  safe — that  of  duty. 

The  best  instruction  we  can  give  others  about 
their  duties  is  to  practice  our  own. 

The  one  thing  man  really  needs  to  do  he  can 
always  do — his  duty. 

The  knowledge  of  their  duty  nearly  all  have, 
the   strength  for  doing  it,   most  have;   the  will 
to  do  it  many  have.     The  wisdom  to  do  it,  few 



Duty  should  hold  us  not  like  the  nail,  which 
has  to  be  clawed  by  its  head  ere  it  can  release 
what  it  holds;  nor  yet  like  the  screw,  which  has 
to  turn  backwards  to  loosen  its  hold.  But  rather 
like  the  axle,  which  tho'  it  securely  holds,  gives 
yet  the  wheel  ample  play. 

Who    is    occupied   most    with    the    duties    of 
others  is  a  meddler,  who  is  occupied  most  with 
the  duties  to  himself  is  a  robber. 

"Eagles  make  no  more  noise  than  pennies !" 
Exactly,  just  because  they  are  gold.     Moreover, 
eagles  are  not  coined  for  the  noise  they  make. 

The  lesser  lights  also  suffer  an  eclipse,  but  it 
is  only  the  eclipse  of  the  greater  lights  that  is 

Who  is  not  economical  from  choice  will  soon 
be  so  from  necessity. 

Any  education   is  good  enough  which  fosters 
pleasure  in  virtue  and  abhorrence  of  vice. 

That    is    education    which    teaches    whom    to 
love  and  what  to  hate. 

That  is  education  which  fits  folk  for  all  the 
duties  it  shall  be  theirs  to  perform. 



Only  that  is  true  education  which  remembers 
that  boys  will  some  day  be  husbands  and  fathers 
and  citizens,  that  girls  will  some  day  be  wives 
and  mothers. 


Education  is  not  yet  finished  until  it  enables 
one  to  recognize  merit  with  the  label  off. 


Education  has  not  yet  done  its  best  if  it  has 
not  widened  your  ignorance  while  adding  to 
your  knowledge. 


The  education  or  culture  which  tries  to  give 
one  what  is  not  already  his  does  not  transform 
him,  nor  even  color  him.  It  paints  him  over, 
oftener  it  daubs  him. 


Education  is  more  to  learn  how  to  learn  than 
to  learn.  And  happy  the  case  indeed  where  it 
does  not  mean  the  need  to  unlearn.  .  .  . 


The  child's  education  is  not  finished  till  he  has 
learned  to  obey;  the  man's  not  till  he  has  learned 
to  command. 


"To  what  do  you  hold,  to  free  grace  or  to 
election?"  To  both,  friend.  To  free  grace  while 
you  are  unsaved ;  to  election,  as  soon  as  you  are 


A  man  is  seldom  eloquent  till  his  life  is  part  of 
his  voice. 



Not  a  little  of  eloquence  consists  in  speaking 
out  boldly  what  others  feel  strongly,  but  are 
unable  to  express. 


The  best  school  of  oratory  is  that  which  teaches 
how  to  say  what  must  be  said,  how  not  to  say 
what  need  not  be  said.  The  one  is  learned  from 
necessity  without  preparation ;  the  other  is  learned 
from  bitter  experience,  and  after  long  preparation. 

Endurance  may  become  the  end  of  suffering, 
and  even  the  beginning  of  enjoyment. 

Who   can   bear   all   things   is   already   fit   for 
heaven;  who  can  endure  all  things  is  not  yet 
fit  even  for  earth. 

Your  enemy  thinks  he  is  your  enemy — he  is 
only  his  own.     Whether  he  shall  really  also  be 
yours  depends  as  much  on  yourself  as  on  him. ' 


You  can  often  conciliate  an  enemy  by  hating 
those  he  hates;  not  quite  so  often  by  loving 
those  he  loves. 


Enjoyment  is  the  only  thing  all  can  overdo, 
and  hardly  any  underdo. 

Underdoing  enjoyment  hardens  folk.    And  over- 
doing enjoyment — does  it  soften  folk?     No,   it 
only  effeminates  them. 

406  APHORISMS  * 


A  sure  way  of  increasing  enjoyment  is  to 
decrease  expectation. 


All  enthusiasm  rests  on  much  knowledge  and 
not  a  little  ignorance. 

We  see  sparks  when  aught  light  falls  before 
us,  when  aught  dark  falls  upon  us.    The  enthus- 
iast mistakes  the  one  for  the  other. 

The  envious  fire  with  an  inverted  gun:  the 
kick  goes  from  them,  the  shot  goes  into  them. 

Nothing  grows  so  slowly  and  fades  so  quickly 
as  true  esteem;  like  the  century  plant:  grows  its 
flower  only  in  a  hundred  years  and  loses  it  in 
a  night. 


A  little  etymology  does  chase  away  large 


Our  paraphrastic  euphemisms  do  not  change 
the  metal  of  the  coin;  they  only  obliterate  the 


Evil  to  be  conquered  in  the  end  must  be 
resisted  in  the  beginning. 

We  cannot  begin  to  hate  evil  without  becoming 
hateful  ourselves,  only  we  must  not  end  therewith 



We  cannot  escape  association  with  evil  but 
we  can  imitate  the  flower:  which  imparts  its 
fragrance  to  the  pot,  but  absorbs  none  of  its 


To  abstain  from  returning  evil  for  evil  is  the 
only  way  to  make  up  for  our  inability  to  always 
return  good  for  good. 


To  do  evil  that  good  may  come  is  to  climb 
to  heaven  by  way  of  hell. 

Even  an  evil  may  become  a  good  to  us  if  we 
make  the  best  thereof. 

A  thing  can  be  done  best  only  once.     When 
an  improvement  upon  excellency  is  tried  it  can- 
not make  it  better,  it  does  make  it  worse. 

For  finding  excuses  for  themselves  men  use 
a  searchlight ;  for  finding  excuses  for  others  they 
are  slow  to  use  even  a  match. 

Excuses  like  mortgages  are  often  necessary  and 
even  useful;  but  like  mortgages  they  are  better 
off  than  on. 


Experience,  like  manna,  spoils  on  our    hands 
if  not  used  at  once. 



Our  experience  was  meant  to  be  a  bridge  for 
others.    Most  men  use  it  hardly  even  themselves. 

Their    experience    men    prefer    to    buy;    their 
opinions  they  prefer  to  borrow. 

It  is  not  experience  folk  are  short  of,  but  the 
inability  to  profit  thereby. 

Extremes  do  not  meet ;  they  only  sit  back  to  back. 

The  great  own  their  eyes,   the  small  borrow 


Nothing  so  stubborn  as  a  fact,  nothing  so 
tractable  as  figures. 


Facts  are  like  worms:  cutting  them  into  two 
does  not  destroy  them;  it  leaves  two  where 
before  was  only  one. 


The  first  failure  can  always  be  a  blessing,  the 
second  may  still  be  a  test,  and  the  third  is  already 
a  warning.     The  fourth  is  the  sure  proof. 

There  is  a  failure  that  is  only  short  of  success, 
there  is  a  success  that  is  actual  failure. 

One  can  still  be  a  success  without  having  suc- 
ceeded.   One  can  still  be  a  failure  without  having 



The  success  to  which  others  have  not  contrib- 
uted is  not  yet  final  success.  The  failure  to  which 
others  have  contributed  is  not  yet  final  failure. 

A  man's  life  may  be  a  success  long  before  he 
dies,  it  is  not  a  failure  until  he  dies. 

Failure  is  not  yet  failure  if  it  teach  us  these 
two  things:  If  our  endeavor  has  been  faithful 
it  may  be  success  in  God's  sight.  And  even  if 
it  be  failure  also  in  His  sight  He  yet  giveth  time 
to  try  again;  and  this  lesson  of  perseverance 
once  learned  is  not  failure. 


The  failures  of  the  eminent  may  be  as  much  an 
inspiration  as  their  successes. 

Few  deserve  fame  who  have  it  not,  fewer  still 
deserve  all  the  fame  they  have. 

Familiarity   with   the  mean   at   last    contents 
men  therewith.     Familiarity  with  the  noble  only 
makes  them  indifferent  thereto. 

Familiarity  with  the  noble  does  not  reconcile 
the  ignoble  therewith. 

The  concealing  of  one  fault  is  apt  to  result 
only  in  the  revealing  of  others. 



It  is  idle  to  remember  your  faults  against 
yourself;  highly  profitable  that  you  remember 
them  for  others. 

Not  the  faults  with  which  folk  are  born  should 
count  against  them,  but  those   that   are  borne 
along  by  them. 

All  are  reconciled  to  the  end  of  the  plot.    It  is 
the  uncertainty  of  the  next  chapter  that  makes 
fear  in  life. 

To  find  much  you  have  to  reject  much  as  well 
as  to  seek  much. 

The  secret  of  finding  is  as  much  in  determining 
the  depth  to  which  one  is  willing  to  dig  as  in 
knowing    the    depth    at    which    the    treasure    is 
.  buried. 

Who  wishes  to  start  the  fire  must  not  mind 
the  smoke. 

The   surest   way   to   set   on  fire  what   is  not 
intended  is  to  strike  into  the  coals. 

Who  blows  into  the  fire  must  expect  sparks 
in  his  face. 

Join  fire  to  iron  and  both  are  beaten. 



Flattery  is  like  mud  in  that  it  sticks;  but 
should,  unlike  mud,  be  brushed  off  before  it  is 


It  is  the  mark  of  flattery  that  it  only  pleases ; 
of  praise,  that  it  also  helps. 

Has  he  really  made  a  fortune?     Not  until  he 
has  learned  to  enjoy  it. 

It  may  be  true  that  men  are  freed  by  making 
a  fortune,    it   is   certain   they   are   enslaved   by 
seeking  it. 

Fortunes  are  like  promises:  easier  made  than 

The  only  real  advantage  of  a  large  fortune  is 
that  it  enables  one  to  do  just  what  he  likes — 
the  very  thing  he  should  not  do. 

Our  good  fortune  is  never  as  great  as  others 
deem  it.     Our  bad  fortune  is  never  as  great  as 
we  deem  it. 

The  dog  runs  after  those  that  run  from  him; 
fortune  is  apt  to  run  from  those  who  run  after  it. 

The  more  one  is,  the  greater  his  freedom;  the 
more  one  has,  the  greater  his  bondage. 




Folk  are  ever  looking  for  fresh  points  of  view. 
Return,  friends,  to  the  old  paths,  they  will  prove 
fresh  enough. 

Of  the  future  man  knows  least,  about  the  future 
man  worries  most. 

By  fixing  all  our  thoughts  on  the  present  we 
degrade  the  future  as  well  as  the  present. 

By  two  things  is  man's  happiness   promoted: 
by  his  knowledge  of  the  future,  by  his  ignorance 
of  .the  future. 


Glasses  may  help  sight,  but  nearly  always  at 
the  expense  of  light. 


Most  folk  wear  their  glasses  all  the  time.  I 
prefer  to  wear  mine  only  at  inspections. 

Men  plead  for  patience  with  the  weaknesses  of 
others — they  mean  their  own. 

Who  carries  only  gold  with  him  will  suffer  from 
the  embarrassment  of  not  having  ready  change. 

Gold  sinks,  smoke  rises. 

Gold  sunk  into  the  sea  is  still  gold:  smoke  rising 
to  heaven  is  still  smoke 



It  is  well  to  remember  that  not  all  is  gold  that 
glitters;  but  better  still  to  remember  that  there 
is  much  gold  that  does  not  glitter. 

An  ignoble  error:  that  a  load  of  gold  is  lighter 
than  one  of  lead. 


The  silver  dollar  and  the  gold  are  of  the  same 
value,  but  the  gold  is  easier  lost  .  .  . 

Flies  are  caught  by  a  sweet,  gold  is  proved  by 
an  acid. 


That  brass  resounds  more  than  gold  may  not 
be  true  of  the  metals,  but  it  is  certainly  true 

The  purer  the  gold,  the  softer  it  is. 

A  nail  of  gold  holds  no  better  than  iron. 

Some  goodness  may  be  in  us  all,  but  it  is  the 
goodness  of  the  last  bit  of  the  pencil;  has  lead 
enough  if  only  it  could  be  handled. 

Others'   goodness  you  may  behold  with  joy; 
your  own,  only  with  suspicion. 

When  others'  goodness   differs   from   ours,  we 
are  apt  to  suspect  theirs. 



Folk  learn  to  like  poisons  if  they  be  sweet,  and 
anon  even  if  they  are  bitter. 


A  good  cause  seldom  fails  thro'  the  in  judicious- 
ness of  its  enemies.  Oftener  thro'  the  judiciousness 
of  its  friends. 


However  good  a  man,  from  the  moment  he 
deems  himself  good,  he  is  not  so  good. 

Do  not  believe  the  good  in  life  is  given  you 
solely  for  your  own  sake.  It  is  sent  you  first 
as  a  companion,  to  be  entertained  ere  long  as 
a  mere  visitor,  and  sent  away  at  last  as  a 


It  is  not  possible  to  attain  to  a  goodness  that 

satisfies  God.     It  is  equally  impossible  to  attain 

to  a  goodness  that  satisfies  man.     But  God  does 

not  lay  up  this  impossibility  against  us,  man  does. 

Goodness  is  to  knowledge  what  the  telescope 
is  to  the  eye:  it  increases  its  range,  but  is  no 
substitute  for  it. 

The  grain  falls,  the  chaff  rises. 

To  expect  gratitude  is  to  forfeit  it. 



When  I  hear  folk  charge  one  another  with 
ingratitude,  or  profuse  with  thanks  for  trifles, 
I  say  with  the  Eastern  sage,  Do  good,  and  throw 
it  into  the  sea.    The  fish  know  it  not,  but  God  does. 

To  feel  gratitude  without  showing  it  is  only 
better  than  to  show  gratitude  without  feeling  it. 

Gratitude  is  the  only  virtue  prized  as  the  bank 
note    is    prized:    without    regard    to    the    specie 
behind  it. 

Nature  teaches  the  great  soul  to  shrink  from 
being  seen;  experience  teaches  it  to  shrink  from 

He   is   great  who   remains   undisturbed   when 
men  take  note  of  him,  but  greater  he  who  remains 
undisturbed  even  when  men  take  note  of  him. 

To  do  great  things,  we  must  indeed  learn  to  do 
small  things;  but  the  surest  way  to  unfit  yourself 
for  what  is  great  is  to  be  ever  engaged  in  what 
is  small. 

The  great  act  in  the  present  with  reference  to 
the  future ;  the  small  wish  for  the  future  with 
reference  to  the  present. 


The  small  man  is  bold  after  success;  the  great 
man  even  after  failure. 



However  small  the  number  it  can  still  be 
halved;  however  great  the  man  he  can  still  be 


Others  may  see  your  greatness,  but  it  consists 
in  seeing  your  littleness. 

Greatness  may  be  attained  by  climbing,  it  is 
retained  by  descending. 

Wait  for  great  occasions?    My  friend,  you  will 
then  do  no  less  than  what   you  are   doing   on 
little  occasions  if  you  are  an  honest  soul;  and  no 
more,  if  you  are  a  dishonest  soul. 

A  great  life  is  to  its  contemporaries  an  Aeolian 
harp:   they   hear  hardly   even   the  fine   sounds; 
posterity  perceives  also  the  melody. 

Habit  is  like  wine:  its  strength  grows  with  age. 

Habit  makes  machines  of  us.     It  is  for  us  to 
put  soul  into  them. 

Half  of  what  we  hear  is  seldom  so.     The  other 
half  is  seldom  exactly  so. 

"I  think  as  my  hammer  thinks"  he  said  when 
he  became  a  great  blacksmith.     "I  think  as  my 
anvil  thinks,"  he  added  when  he  became  a  great 



The  hardest  thing  to  learn  is  that  we  can  do 
nothing.  The  next  hardest  is  after  learning  it 
to — remember  it. 


Hay  you  can  make  only  when  there  is  no 
storm.  Your  housecleaning  you  must  do,  and 
often  best,  during  the  storm. 

It  is  a  mark  of  healthy  nature  when  experience 
removes  its  prejudices  but  restores  its  precon- 

The  only  rational  way  to  care  for  your  health 
is  to  treat  it  as  not  your  own. 

Health  thinks   of  the   future,    disease  worries 
over  it. 

Good  hearing  consists  not  so  much  in  hearing 
all  sounds  as  in  hearing  all  the  necessary  sounds. 

"Help  yourself!"  an  excellent  motto  for  you, 
but  a  problematic  preachment  to  others. 

I  am  dissuaded  from  helping  others  because 
forsooth  I  have  duties  to  myself.     Well,  I  have 
no  duties  to  myself  that  can  prevent  me     from 
helping  others. 



It  is  easy  to  live  when  hope  and  reward  beckons 
on ;  but  to  give  up  even  the  last  hope  yet  lingering 
in  the  soul,  to  take  up  life  again  when  nothing 
beckons;  darkness  ahead,  regret  behind,  pain  all 
over;  to  live,  to  bear,  to  endure,  to  praise  God 
therefor — this  is  bravery,  this  is  heroism. 

Hesitation  is  the  sign  as  much  of  the  abundance 
of  ideas,  as  of  their  scarcity. 

There  is  a  hesitation  of  speech  more  eloquent 
than  many  a  passionate  outburst. 

Hesitation  may  be  a  sign  that  one  sees  too 
much.     Precipitation  is  a  sign  that  one  sees  too 

Many  are  able  to  fill  a  high  place,  few  are 
worthy  to  hold  it. 

The   great   historian   is  he  who   distinguishes 
between  what  is  done  and  what  happens. 

History   like   the   eclipses   in   the   heavens,    is 
sure  to  repeat  itself;  and,  like  the  eclipses,  hardly 
ever  at  the  same  time  and  place. 

The  mouse  is  the  thief,  the  hole  is  the  inciter 
to  the  theft. 



To  try  to  hold  more  with  hands  already  full 
is  to  lose  all. 

A  great  tragedy:  to  be  at  home  only  when 
away  from  home. 


Both  the  honest  man  and  the  rogue  distrust 
each  other.  But  the  honest  man  distrusts  the 
rogue  because  he  knows  him  to  be  a  rogue;  the 
rogue  distrusts  the  honest  man  because  he  thinks 
him  a  fool. 


The  Italians  say:  'Tor  an  honest  man  half  his 
wits  are  enough;  the  whole  is  too  little  for  a 
knave."  This  may  be  true  in  Italy.  In  America 
the  honest  man  needs  the  whole  of  his  and 
much  besides. 


Honesty  is  tested  as  much  by  our  pleasures 
as  by  our  business. 


Honesty  keeps  one  seemingly  on  a  long  walk, 
but  it  is  the  shortest  in  the  long  run. 


Honesty  could  hitherto  be  likened  only  to  a 
diamond,  which  adorns  the  wearer;  it  can  now 
be  likened  to  radium  which  makes  even  jewels 
more  beautiful. 


Faith  can  be  defined,  love  can  be  defined,  hope, 
duty,  can  be  defined.  Honor  alone  cannot  be 
defined;  just  as  an  atmosphere  cannot  be  defined. 
Honor  is  an  atmosphere. 



To  pursue  honors  is  only  to  drive  honor  from 

Man   is   never   above   himself,    often   beneath 

There  is  no  humility  natural  to  pride,  there 
may  be  a  pride  natural  even  to  humility. 


Men  prize  humility  more  than  devoutness  in 
another.  Devoutness  bows  before  God.  Hu- 
mility, bows  also  before  men. 

True  humility  consists  in  thinking  ourselves 
inferior  not  so  much  to  others  as  to  our  best  selves. 

A  great  comfort:  the  sense  of  humor;  a  great 
snare:  the  sense  of  the  ridiculous. 

To  the  intelligent  few,  life  would  be  intolerable 
but  for  a  saving  sense  of  humor.     To  the  unin- 
telligent many,  life  is  tolerable  just  because  they 
lack  this  saving  sense  of  humor. 

Ice  rises  as  well  as  steam. 

It  needs  but   little   courage   to   confess   one's 
ignorance,  it  needs  much  knowledge  to  know  it. 



Of  all  imitations  the  worst  is  that  of  oneself. 

It   is   a   sign   of   immaturity   when   only   few 
interest  you;  and  alas!  also  of — maturity  .  .  . 

The  immodesty  of  mind  is  more  fatal  than 
that  of  the  body:  it  is  not  so  repulsive  .  .  . 

What  folk  do  not  wish  they  readily  prove  to 
be  impossible. 

Impulse   is   nature,    but   unbridled   it   is   bad 

I  have  observed  that  when  the  washline  is 
hung  out  conspicuously  it  is  like  to  be  the  only 
sign  of  life  about  the  house.  It  is  the  mark  of 
indelicate  folk  that  their  existence  is  made  known 
chiefly  from  the  washline. 

Injuries  are  best  never  mentioned,  often  for- 
got, always  forgiven. 

Folk  are  apt  to  be  indifferent  to  injustice  unless 
it  is  against  themselves. 

Who  can  bear  injustice  is  unfit  for  this  life; 
who  cannot,  is  unfit  for  the  next. 



To  see  things  as  they  are  is  surely  running  the 
risk  of  becoming  insane.  To  insist  upon  having 
all  things  as  they  should  be  is  to  be  already 


The  most  important  acts  of  their  lives  folk  at 
times  do  without  exactly  knowing  why.  They 
are  thus  clearly  inspired.  It  is  only  a  question 
whether  from  above  or  from  beneath. 

One's  integrity  may  stand  in  the  way  of  success 
in  small  matters.      One's  lack  of  integrity  will 
stand  in  the  way  of  success  in  great  matters. 

Two  men  are  not  to  be  fully  trusted:     who 
knows  not  how  to  obey,  who  knows  not  how  to 

Two  men  indulge  in  introspection:  the  very 
healthy  and  the  very  sick;  but  with  this  differ- 
ence:  the  healthy  can  afford  it,  the  sick  cannot. 

Strike  indeed  the  iron  while  it  is  hot;  better 
still,  strike  the  iron  until  it  is  hot. 

It  is  the  hot  iron  that  is  beaten,  not  the  cold. 

The  worst  about  a  jest  is  that  after  all  it  is 
not  a  jest  .  .  . 



Things  are  best  judged  the  nearer  we  approach 
them;  men,  the  further  we  recede  from  them. 

In   their   absence   we   are    apt   to   judge   folk 
more  by  our  reason  when  it  is  well  with  us;  in 
their  presence,  more  by  our  feelings,  when  it  is 
ill  with  them. 

The  road  to   justice   leads   as   often   through 
injustice  as  out  of  it. 

It  is  the  glory  of  a  king  that  the  gems  in  his 
crown  are  held  to  be  genuine  even  when  seen 
from  afar. 

The  great  king  is  he  who  rules  himself,  and 
only  reigns  over  others. 

A  king's  coffin  need  be  no  larger  than  a  beggar's. 

' 'That    dull    knife— just    good    for    nothing!" 
Tut,  tut;  for  cutting  paper  it  is  even  better  than 
a  sharp  one. 

I  used  to  prize  the  knots  in  the  wood  as  its 
strongest   parts,   until   I   learned  that  they  are 
easiest  knocked  out  of  their  place. 

It    needs   much    knowledge    to    doubt    intelli- 
gently, and  more  to  believe  intelligently. 



The  more  one  truly  knows,  to  the  fewer  he 
can  speak;  the  more  one  truly  has,  to  the  fewer 
he  can  give. 


I  used  to  have  much  faith  in  the  indiscriminate 
spread  of  knowledge  until  I  learned  that  the 
utility  of  candles  ends  at  the  powder  magazine. 

Every  premature  knowledge  is  some  embryonic 
sorrow.     Every  useless  knowledge  is  some  em- 
bryonic vice. 

There  is  no  such  thing  as  waste  in  possessing 
knowledge.      There   is   far   too   much   waste   in 
the  acquiring  thereof. 

Who  knows  everything  about  everything  knows 
as  yet  nothing  about  anything.    Only  who  knows 
everything  of  something  is  ready  to  know  some- 
thing of  everything. 

To  know  a  thing  you  must  see  it  as  a  part, 
to  understand  it  you  must  see  it  as  a  whole. 

True   knowledge   consists   of   two   halves:  the 
knowledge  that  we  know,  the  knowledge  that  we 
do  not  know. 

What  counts  against  a  man  is  not  so  much 
what  he  is  not  as  what  he  does  not  try  to  be. 



Gross  ignorance  may    keep    one   poor,   refined 
knowledge  is  apt  to  make  him  poor. 

The  more  we  know  the  more  things  we  can 
believe,  the  fewer  folk  we  can  trust. 

The  less  men  know  the  harder  they  find  it 
to  believe  the  natural.     The  more  men  know, 
the  easier  they  believe  the  supernatural. 

Who  sit  under  the  tree  of  life  are  in  danger  of 
underestimating  the  tree  of  Knowledge.     Who 
sit   under  the   Tree   of   Knowledge   are   apt   to 
mistake  it  for  the  Tree  of  Life. 

There  is  danger  in  living  below  what  one  knows, 
there  is  danger  in  living  above  what  one  knows; 
but  the  greatest  danger  is  in  living  only  in  what 
one  knows. 

Who  knows  two  languages  is  not  yet  thereby 
twice  a  man,  but  who  knows  only  one  is  not  yet 
a  whole  man. 

Language  and  music  are  not  found  in  nature. 
Language  is  what  connects  man  at  present  with 
heaven.      Music,  is  it  the  reminiscence  of  man's 
past  tie  with  heaven? 



The  language  of  a  people  is  the  history  of  its 
past;  the  language  of  the  child  is  the  history  of 
its  present ;  the  language  of  the  man  is  the  history 
of  his  future. 


Law  is  always  a  necessity,  freedom  is  seldom 
more  than  a  luxury. 


Laws  should  be  upheld  because  of  their  in- 
trinsic justice.  And  in  a  plight  indeed  is  that 
community  which  upholds  bad  laws  solely  be- 
cause of  the  injustice  that  may  result  from 
unmaking  them. 


The  Law  is  the  light  which  only  makes  the 
darkness  darker;  grace  is  the  light  which  enables 
us  to  walk  therein. 


There  are  two  kinds  of  law :  law  and  lawlessness 
under  the  guise  of  law;  the  former  is  everywhere 
an  expression  of  God  and  must  be  obeyed;  the 
latter  is  Satan's  counterfeit,  and  is  often  best 


' 'John  Jones,  M.  D."  when  giving  account  of 
oneself,  and  "Dr.  John  Jones"  when  addressed 
by  others' — there  is  wisdom  in  this  bit  of  con- 
ventionality. By  yourself  your  learning  is  best 
placed  behind  you.  Others  can  afford  to  see  it 
in  front  of  you. 


Who  has  to  learn  his  lesson  twice  hardly 
learns  it  even  once. 



The  genius  learns  with  very  little  labor;  the 
dullard,  only  with  very  much.  The  rest  .who  are 
neither  geniuses  nor  dullards, — do  they  ever 
really  learn  anything? 


Leisure  is  the  mother  of  nearly  all  that  is 
thoroughly  good,  and  the  father  of  much  that  is 
thoroughly  bad. 


Leisure  is  the  mother  of  all  art;  spontaneity,  of 
all  grace ;  sincerity  of  all  beauty. 

Mature  minds  prefer  to  learn  what  they  do 
not  know.  Immature  minds  prefer  to  learn 
mostly  about  what  they  already  know. 


Men  measure  by  their  admiration,   they  are 
measured  by  their  censure. 

To  keep  the  medium  in  all  things  is  the  true 
mark  of  what  is  not  mediocre. 
Two  men  need  long   memories:  the  borrower 
and  the  liar. 

To  remember  a  good  turn  is   to   deserve  it; 
to  remember  an  ill  turn  is  to  deserve  it  still  more. 

The  forgetting  of  what  we  should  remember 
is  only  a  misfortune;  the  forgetting  that  we  are 
forgetful — this  is  the  calamity. 



What  can  be  remembered  only  with  an  effort 
is  seldom  worth  remembering.  "I  always  re- 
member the  man  that  kicked  me  last"  was 
Samuel  Johnson's  efficient  receipt  for  a  good 


Trouble  not  thyself  about  method :  if  thou  hast 
aught  worthy  within  thee  it  will  find  its  own 
method  outward. 


Two  minds  are  quickly  made  up:  the  very 
great,  the  very  small. 

Matter    out    of    place    is    rightly    called    dirt, 
Mind   out    of   place — a   more   serious    affair — is 
only  called  special  learning. 

The  going  thro'  the  mire  is  not  always  our 
responsibility,  the  letting  the  mire  stick  to  our 
clothes  is. 

When  the  mirror  reflects  a  distorted  likeness, 
the  distortion  is  false,  is  the  mirror's.  When 
it  reflects  a  beautiful  likeness,  the  beauty  is  real. 

We  may  learn  even  from  the  miser :  who  values 
his  gold  not  for  what  it  can  bring,  but  for  itself. 

Catching  the  ball  only  to  throw  it  again — to 
see  no   sport   therein — this   is   the  miser's   fatal 



Men  seldom  misrepresent  themselves  so  much 
as  when  calling  things  by  their  right  names. 

For  two  things  folk  need  no  training:  for  mis- 
representing others   to  themselves;  or  misrepre- 
senting themselves  to  others. 

To  report  one's  words  without  his  tone  and 
mien, — is  it  really  to  report  them? 


To  confess  boldly  mistakes  that  can  be  cor- 
rected is  bravery.  To  stand  bravely  by  mistakes 
that  cannot  be  corrected  is  heroism. 

To  be  misunderstood   is   easier   in   your   own 
tongue  than  in  a  foreign  one. 

To  be  misunderstood  is  only  a  sorrow,  to  mis- 
understand is  a  misfortune. 

Judicious  saving  keeps  money :  judicious  spend- 
ing may  make  it. 


Who  believes  that  money  will  do  all,  will  soon 
do  all  for  money. 


Who  needs  only  money  to  place  him  on  his 
feet  will  not  remain  long  standing  without  it. 

is  to 



The  surest  way  to  reveal  your  weakness  i 
hide  your  motives. 


The  highest  music  is  within  the  reach  of  all, 
since  every  one  can  make  his  life  a  great  liturgy. 

Music  is  like  wine:  the  longer  it  has  stood  in 
our  memories  the  better  it  tastes. 

Of  mystery  there  is  as  much  in  the  known  as 
in  the  unknown. 

To  find  a  good  place  for  the  nail  in  the  wall 
you  must  hammer  also   at  where  you   do  not 
want  it. 


I  am  yet  to  meet  the  broad-minded  soul  whose 
view  extends  to  the  horizon  of  all  the  four  points 
of  compass  of  the  known,  with  the  honest  con- 
fession that  at  any  moment  a  new  sun  may  arise 
from  the  vast  unknown  beyond  that  shall  at 
once  pale  into  darkness  all  that  he  now  so  clearly 
sees.  All  the  rest  that  has  not  this  breadth  is 
narrow-mindedness :  which  even  unwittingly  tends 
to  wickedness,  so  that  with  the  best  intentions  a 
narrow  minded  man  cannot  be  a  good  man. 

Wind  and  wave  are  ever  on  the  side  of  the  ablest 
navigator,    said    Gibbon,    and   he   said   what    is 
not  true.     What  makes  the  ablest  navigator  is 
that  he  is  ever  on  the  side  of  wind  and  wave. 



Needs  are  apt  to  awake  men;  conpanions  to 
make  men;  occupations,  to  break  men. 

The  possession  of  what  we  need  is  comparatively 
inexpensive.     It  is  the  possession  of  what  others 
think  we  need  that  proves  expensive. 

The  nightingale  feeds  on  the  glow  worm;  but 
it  is  not  the  glow  worm  that  makes  it  sing,  it 
does  not  even  make  it  glow. 

For  meeting  the  noble  a  journey  is  needful: 
for  meeting  the  mean  a  walk  is  enough. 

That  a  note  pitched  too  high  is  equally  in- 
audible with  one  pitched  too  low  is  true  only 
in  Physics.  In  morals  only  the  note  pitched  too 
high  is  inaudible ;  the  one  pitched  too  low  reaches 
but  too  speedily  many  an  ear. 

Who  expects   others  to   obey  him   should  be 
most  like  God.    He  is  usually  least. 

To  look  at  objects  too  long  is  to  turn  them 
into  objections. 


In  obstacles  may  yet  be  gain:  throw  the  ball 
into  the  field,  and  it  leaves  thee.  Cast  it  against 
the  wall — back  it  comes  to  thee. 



Our  obstacles  are  put  up  to  enable  us  either  to 
conquer  them  or  to  acknowledge  our  defeat  by 
them.  And  this  latter  may  be  a  victory  inferior 
only  to  the  former. 

The  problem  of  occupation  is  settled  when  we 
know  how  to  use  our  worktime  and  not  to  abuse 
our  leisure. 

The    occupation    you    choose    for    your    hand 
decides  also  the  thoughts  of  your  head,  and  oft 
alas!  also  the  feelings  of  your  heart. 

I  prefer  the  old  clocks  about  the  house  to  the 
new,  if  only  for  the  reason  that  I  have  to  wind 
them  daily,  have  thus  oft  to  do  to  them.  They 
thus  become  in  solitude  a  sort  of  companion. 
Dear  old  maid  neighbor  of  mine!  Oft  I  have 
looked  askance  at  thee.  I  do  so  no  more,  I  now 
understand  why  you  look  so  forward  to  the 
bath  you  are  to  give  to  your  poodle  dog. 

The  opening  of  the  eye  is  of  no  use  unless  it 
bring  about  first  an  opening  of  the  heart,  then 
an  opening  of  the  hand  and  lastly  an  opening 
of  the  mouth?     No,  but  a — shutting  thereof. 

Folk  ask  your  opinion  about  others — they  are 
trying  to  form  their  opinion  of  you. 



Folk  either  know  you  or  they  know  you  not 
If  they  know  you,  their  opinion  of  you  is  just 
and  should  not  disturb  you.     If  they  know  you 
not,  their  opinion  of  you  is  unjust  and  shall  it 
disturb  you? 


All  have  opinions,  few  can  give  the  grounds 
for  them. 


The  opinions  of  most  folk  are  borrowed;  and 
the  tenacity  with  which  they  are  held  is  generally 
inversely  to  the  amount  of  ownership  had  in  them. 

The   opinions    of   most   men   are   mortgaged : 
with  serious  objection  to  having  the  mortgage 

Two  men  are  indifferent  to  the  opinion  of  their 
fellow  men:    Who  is  below  them,  who  is  above 

The  opinion  of  others  about  you  is  only  their 
affair.    Your  affair  is  to  see  that  it  affect  not  your 
opinion  of  them. 


Who  neglects  opportunities  is  neglected  by 


The  surest  way  to  create  new  opportunities  is 
to  utilize  the  old. 


From  others  to  myself  I  ask  only  justice,  but 
others  from  me  have  a  right  to  expect  mercy. 



Who  is  too  particular  about  the  seasoning  is 
not  yet  hungry  enough. 

Passion  is  itself  only  heat.     Unfortunately  it 
oftener  scorches  than  warms. 

Our  passions  are  our  only  enemies  we  cannot 
change  into  friends  by  indulging  them. 

Passion  persuades,   and  as  often  the  speaker 
as  the  hearer. 

Passion  may  sometime  enlarge  the  small  soul, 
it  always  belittles  the  large  soul. 


The  soul's  health  is  manifested  more  in  free- 
dom from  passion  than  in  victorious  struggle 
therewith.  And  the  wisdom  of  heaven  shapes 
men's  lives  so  that  they  do  not  properly  live 
unless  they  have  passions,  but  are  not  content 
until  they  conquer  them.  God  thus  gives  folk 
plenty  to  do,  and  what  most  folk  need  is — plenty 
to  do. 


Every  passion  carries  its  check.  Many  have 
the  passion  with  the  check  gone;  not  a  few  carry 
the  check  with  the  passion  already  departed,  or 
not  yet  arrived. 


Two  things  men  ever  find  easily:  the  duty  of 
others,  the  excuse  for  not  doing  their  own. 



Men  plead  for  patience  with  the  weaknesses 
of  others,  they  mean  their  own. 

Patience  has  a  bitter  bark,  but  sweet  fruit. 

Two  frames  of  mind  lead  to  true  peace:  that 
which  hopeth  for  all  things,  that  which  hopeth 
for  nothing. 


To  make  peace  after  the  quarrel  surely  needs 
two;  to  keep  it  before  the  quarrel  may  need 
only  one. 


To  be  at  peace  with  ourselves  we  must  first 
war  much  with  ourselves,  and  not  a  little  with 
others,  and  then  with  neither. 

Shells  are  found  on  the  beach;  for  pearls  one 
must  dive. 

The   folly    of    casting   pearls    before    swine   is 
equalled  only  by  that  of  trying  to  persuade  them 
that  the  mire  they  so  love  is  just  filth. 

The     pedant     carries     always    his    knowledge 
with  him.      The   scholar  is   content   to   keep   it 
where  it  can  be  easily  got  at. 

With  the  cyclopedia  at  hand  I  would  as  soon 
think  of  carrying  a  multitude  of  diverse  facts 


in  my  mind  as  to  load  myself  with  the  whole  ox 
when  the  jar  of  beef  tea  can  be  put  into  the  satchel. 


It  is  the  pedestal  that  makes  the  statue  im- 


Perfect  work  requires  not  so  much  the  perfect 
man  as  the  whole  man. 

There  was  insight  in  making  the  most  rounded 
out  figure  a  mere  zero.  The  complete  man  will 
not  be  the  rounded  out  man  with  the  straight 
line  touching  him  only  at  one  point;  but  the 
square  man:  with  four  sharp  corners  to  him 
against  the  demons  from  the  four  corners  of  the 

The  possession  of  the  sense  of  perfection  is  apt 
to  be  a  hindrance  to  perfection  in  the  greater  men. 
Its  absence  is  a  sure  hindrance  to  perfection  in 
the  smaller  men. 

The  perfect  man  needs  all  three:  vinegar,  salt, 
sugar.    But  of  vinegar  a  drop  is  more  than  e  nough ; 
of  salt  a  pinch  suffices;    of  sugar  he  can  never 
have  too  much. 

The  question  whether  there  is  perfection  for 
man  here  is  an  academic  one.    What  is  certain  is 
that  there  is  such  a  thing  as  daily  growing  less 

The  two  great  causes  of  wrong  doing :    the  desire 
to  please  self,  the  desire  to  please  others.     Two 


great  motives  of  right  doing:    the  desire  to  please 
One  other,  to  satisfy  oneself. 

The   difference   between   innocent   and   guilty 
pleasures  is  that  the  latter  cost  more  than  they 
are  worth. 


To  seek  pleasure  and  profit  at  others'  expense 
is  boorish.  To  be  ever  seeking  to  bestow  pleasure 
and  profit  at  our  expense  is  indeed  fine,  but  just 
a  little  superfine.  But  to  bestow  pleasure  and 
profit  upon  others,  we  finding  therein  our  own 
at  the  same  time — this  is  indeed  the  normal, 
hence  the  true  way. 


"The  poker  has  no  sensation!" — But  that  is 
precisely  why  I  can  stir  the  fire  therewith ! 

I  do  not  object  to  polish;    only  it  must  not 
make  my  walk  slippery;    all  the  more  so  when 
the  polish  is  to  be  on  my  shoes  rather  than  on 
the  floor. 


Politeness  is  to  the  heart  what  the  shell  is  to 
the  nut,  and  covers  as  often  a  worm  as  sound 

I  dislike  politeness  which  is  only  a  mask  for 
courtesy.  But  I  flee  thereto  in  the  one  case  where 
courtesy  is  impossible.  When  the  fool  is  upon  me 
and  I  cannot  escape  him,  I  hold  thereto  as  a  kind 
of  distance  stick  between  us:  he  holds  its  one 
end,  I  the  other.    And  like  two  men  walking  each 


on  a  rail  of  the  track,  we  each  hold  to  his  own 
rail;  ever  opposite  each  other  but  never  nearer 
to  one  another. 

Men  ever  clamor  for  more  power.    Step  off  the 
insulator,  friends,  and  power  will  soon  enough  go 
through  you. 

The  secret  of  power  is  to  draw  from  the  depths, 
but  not  quite  to  the  surface. 

Much  of  men's  praise  of  others  is  only  an  in- 
direct way  of  sounding  their  own. 

True  praise  cannot  be  given,  it  must  be  won. 

To  be  praised  by  all  may  be  more  satisfactory 
than  to  be  condemned  by  all,  but  only  in  the 
short  run.     In  the  long  run  it  is  found  to  be 

Prejudice  is  a  sign  of  life,  partiality  of  death. 

Pride  dislikes  pity;  but  only  the  name,  not  the 

Pride  is  that  refinement  of  selfishness   which 
sacrifices  even  self  for  selfishness'  sake.     Selfish- 
ness would  have  a  debt  unpaid.      Pride  is  rest- 
less until  it  is  paid. 



The  art  of  printing  has  widened  intelligence, 
but  has  not  deepened  it. 

In  prison  we  all  are :    only  some  are  the  keepers, 
others  the  prisoners.    A  few  chosen  ones  are  out 
either  on  leave  or  on  parole. 

Probity  and  skill  do  not  always  go  together, 
but  probity  is  already  a  kind  of  skill. 

Who  procrastinates  thinks  he  gains  time,  he  is 
only  losing  it. 

Are  you  progressing  ?    Not  till  you  have  learned 
to  dispense  to-day  with  what  you  needed  yes- 

Progress  is  measured  as  much  by  what  we  part 
with  as  by  what  we  acquire. 

True    progress    consists    not  in  increasing  our 
needs,  but  in  reducing  our  wants. 

Men  are  apt  to  be  less  provoked  by  seeing 
others  act  differently  from  themselves  than  by 
hearing  them  think  differently. 


To  the  pure  all  things  are  pure,  and  alas!  also 
to  the  impure. 



Others  may  see  your  greatness,  but  it  consists 
in  your  seeing  your  littleness. 

The  purse  is  best  tied  in  four  ways:  toward 
yourself — with  a  cord;  toward  your  neighbor — 
with  a  string;  toward  your  friend — with  a  hair; 
toward  your  enemy — with  a  spider's  web. 

The  first  blow  only  invites  the  quarrel,  it  is 
the  second  that  makes  it. 

The  questions  man  is  called  upon  to  answer 
are  those  put  to  him,  not  those  put  by  himself. 

Do  you  ask  who  recommends  him?    Then  you 
are  an  echo.^  Do  you  ask  what  recommends  him? 
Then  you  are  a  voice. 

The  fear  of  losing  what  we  have  is  more  power- 
ful than  the  hope  of  gaining  what  we  have  not. 
And  herein  it  is  that  the  reformer  is  at  a  disad- 
vantage before  his  antagonists. 

The  tragedy  of  all  reformers  is  that  in  cleaning 
the  stables  they  have  to  leave  the  oxen  inside 

The  best  remedy  against  annoyance  from  small 
things  is  to  battle  with  great. 



Drastic  remedies  are  apt  at  first  to  make  the 
disease  appear  worse.  The  weak  look  to  the  first 
consequence;   the  strong,  to  the  second. 

Repentance  is  doubling  one's  track  upon  one- 
self, but  not  for  the  sake  of  deceiving. 

%  2897. 

Two  things  are  easy :    to  gain  notoriety,  to  lose 
a  reputation. 

Fame  folk  seldom  gain  wholly  through  their 
merit.      Reputation    men    seldom    lose    except 
through  their  demerit. 

The  common  man  is  content  with  a  horizontal 
reputation;    the  uncommon  man,  with  a  vertical 

A  great  fraud :    to  extract  all  the  good  and  pass 
it  off  as  a  sample  of  the  rest.     Most  reputations 
are  frauds  of  this  sort. 

Men's  lives  give  weight  to  their  words,  their 
reputation  adds  wings. 

Reputation  must  be  gained  by  many  deeds,  it 
can  be  lost  by  only  one. 

Most    reputations    are    only  notorieties   with 
some  little  incense  about  them. 



Resignation,  the  great  remedy  of  Goethe  and 
Carlyle,  taught  through  so  many  chapters,  for 
so  many  years — get  tired  enough,  friends,  and  you 
will  soon  be  resigned   .    .    . 


The  great  virtue  of  Renunciation  praised  so 
much — what  is  it  but  the  restatement  of  the  fact 
that  folk  ever  have  strength  enough  to  endure 
the  ills  of  others  ?  The  great  prophets  of  Renun- 
ciation, Goethe  and  his  herein  disciple  Carlyle, 
renounced  only  in  ink,  not  in  blood.  When  it 
came  to  the  real  renouncing,  in  life  not  in  books, 
Goethe  could  not  rest  until  the  cup  of  Unresigna- 
tion  had  been  drained  to  the  dregs;  and  Carlyle 
remained  a  peacelessness  for  some  two  score 
years  of  his  clamorous  preachments  on  Resigna- 
tion to  the  end  of  his  joyless  days   .    .    . 


I  used  to  think  Renunciation  was  aught  to 
give  up,  to  let  go.  I  now  find  it  to  be  only  aught 
to  accept,  to  hold  to.  Accept  thy  lot,  whate'er  it 
be.  Hold,  and  hold  to  God's  will  for  thee,  rather 
than  to  thy  will  for  Him   .    .    . 

Who  deliberately  starts  out  to  win  the  respect 
of  his  fellows  is  on  the  way  of  losing  his  own. 

To  expect  more  respect  than  one  deserves  is  to 
forfeit  what  respect  one  does  deserve. 



One  need  not  always  be  worthy  of  respect,  one 
should  always  be  capable  thereof. 

The  best  reward  of  an  excellent  piece  of  work 
is  the  satisfaction  of  having  done  it,  even  if  it 
remain  its  only  reward. 

Intercourse  with  the  rich  in  purse  does  not 
make  you  richer.     Intercourse  with  the  poor  in 
spirit  may  not  make  you  richer,  but  it  will  not 
leave  you  poorer. 

Men  are  seldom  so  entertaining  before  men 
and  so  abominable  before  God  as  when  ridiculing 

Right    means    straight.      All    bending    of   the 
measuring  rod  shortens  the  length  it  measures. 
And  it  is  thus  that  wrong  cheats. 

Where  two  persons  on  opposite  sides  are  equally 
able  and  sincere,  it  is  certain  that  both  cannot 
be  right.    It  is  not  so  certain  that  either  is  right. 


To  take  our  rights  by  storm  before  men  is  to 
forfeit  them  before  God. 

Men  are  seldom  so  near  endangering  the  right 
as  when  insisting  upon  their  rights. 




You  cannot  solder  right  and  wrong — a  truth 
forgotten  in  public  life,  seldom  remembered  in 
private  life,  recognized  at  times  in  the  closet,  its 
neglect  at  last  atoned  for  from  the  housetops. 


That  one  is  never  right  in  the  opinion  of  others 
may  yet  be  a  hopeful  sign.  That  one  is  never 
wrong  in  his  own  is  the  hopeless  sign. 

We  are  only  right  when  we  disapprove  wrong 
in  others.     We  become  righteous  when  we  con- 
demn it  in  ourselves. 


Keeping  to  the  right  will  not  always  save  you 
from  being  run  into,  but  it  will  save  you  from  the 
reproach  of  having  been  run  into. 

The  best  praise  of  the  righteous  is  their  censure 
by  the  wicked.  . 


,  Ripe  fruit  must  not  remain  long  unpicked. 

To  rise  is  easy.     It  is  only  a  question  whether 
to  the  clouds  or  through  them. 

However  great  the  river,  its  beginning  is  ob- 
scure.    However  small,  its  end  is  clear. 

Who  robs  me  of  what  is  mine  may  make  me 
richer  thereby,  himself  he  only  makes  poorer. 



The  value  of  rules  lies  not  so  much  in  their 
power  to  lead  us  to  right  action  as  in  their  di- 
recting our  attention  to  right  action. 

It  is  as  easy  to  lay  down  rules,  as  it  is  difficult 
to  keep  them. 

The  sand  resists  the  shell  where  the  rock  yields. 

The  safety  of  the  spire  is  not  in  the  thinness  of 
the  top,  but  in  the  solidity  of  the  bottom. 

By  judicious  saving  men  keep  money,  only  by 
judicious  spending  do  they  save  it. 

Seamanship  may  avail  much  in  the  storm;    it 
avails  but  little  in  the  calm. 

Many  things  we  fail  to  see  because  they  are  so 
constantly  in  our  sight. 

To  expect  gratitude  is  to  forfeit  it. 

Who  is  unconsciously  selfish  is  not  so  dangerous 
as  he  who  is  consciously  selfish:    the  former  be- 
trays himself;    the  latter  conceals  himself. 


Selfishness    surely    makes    folk    stupid, 


stupidity    as    surely    makes    folk    selfish. 



philosopher  therefore  asks :  Which  first,  stupidity 
or  selfishness?  As  usual,  philosopher  dear,  your 
question  is  an  academic  one.  Neither  is  first, 
since  they  are  both  one  and  the  same.  Only 
selfishness  is  stupidity  of  heart,  stupidity  is 
selfishness  of  head   .    .    . 

Nothing  so  keen  as  selfishness,  nothing  so  dull. 

The  highest  courage  is  to  dare  to  appear  what 
you  are.    The  highest  selfishness,  always  to  show 
that  courage. 

There  is  a  time  for  even  selfishness.     When  iti 
protects  your  growth:    for  only  the  full-grown 
can  bear  the  ripest  fruit  of  unselfishness. 

The  phrenologists  have  hit  it  right  in  at  least 
one  thing:     they  place  the  organ  of  self-love  in 
the  back  of  the  head. 

Self-love   is    an   excellent   critic,    but    only   of 
others,  not  of  oneself. 


Self-love  makes  men  keen  about  others,  but 
keeps  them  blind  about  themselves. 


Who  has  little  sense  himself  displays  his  lackj 
nowhere  so  much  as  in  the  suspicion  that  others 
also  have  no  more. 


To  keep  many  servants  is  only  to  be  the  in- 
voluntary servant  of  many. 


The  highest  service  has  its  joys  as  well  as  its 
sorrows.  But  what  makes  it  highest  is  that  it 
looks  neither  to  the  one  nor  away  from  the  other, 
though  it  may  see  both. 

Shadows  indicate  the  presence  of  light  as  well 
as  its  absence. 


No  shadows  to-day?    Then  there  is  no  sunshine. 

The  loftier  the  mount,  the  longer  its  shadow, 
and  deeper. 

To  leave  the  shadow  behind  you  need  only 
turn  to  the  sun. 

The  only  way  to  escape  your  shadow  is  to  get 
out  of  the  sun. 

A  man's   shadow   does  not  always   disappear 
with  himself. 


The  shallow  see  aught  ridiculous  in  everything ; 
the  profound  in  hardly  anything. 

Both   the    profound   and   the   shallow   merely 
scratch  the  surface.     But  the  shallow  leave  the 


furrows  as  they  find  them;    the  profound  cover 
them  with  layers  of  their  own. 

Into  sin  men  may  be  led  by  others ;  to  holiness 
they  must  go  themselves. 

Trust  may  not  always  call  out  sincerity,  but 
distrust  nearly  always  calls  out  insincerity. 


There  is  a  sort  of  sincerity  that  objects  even 

to  the  sugared  coat  of  the  pill.    But  to  this  they 

hold  only  in  the  sickness  of  others;   the  objection 

is  apt  to  vanish  in  case  of  their  own  sickness   .    .    . 

However  mistaken,  he  is  at  least  sincere !    But 
so  is  the  mosquito,  the  wolf,  the  rattlesnake. 

Nothing  so  convincing  as  sincerity,  and  nothing 
so  deceptive. 

There   are   certain   marks   of   sincerity   which 
like  the  signs  of  masonry  are  recognized  only  by 
the  initiated,  the  great  brotherhood  of  the  sincere. 

The  insincere  betray  themselves  by  nothing 
so  much  as  by  asking  concerning  one  they  do 
not  understand  whether  he  is  sincere. 

Two  things  we  may  always  believe  to  be  sincere : 
praise  from  our  enemies,  blame  from  our  friends. 



Sincere  we  must  be  with  all;  confiding  hardly 
to  any. 


The  notes   you  may  pick  up   in  the   crowd. 
To  learn  to  sing  you  must  be  alone. 

The  slanderer  works  with  truth  for  a  handle, 
with  falsehood  for  a  blade. 

The  slanderer  puts  the  butter  on  the  table, 
the  listener  spreads  it  on  the  bread. 

The   slanderer   only   throws   dust   in   the   air, 
but  to  find  it  ere  long  all  over  himself. 

Great  slowness  to  cast  off  what  has  once  been 
its  is  a  high  virtue  in  the  heart.    Even  little  such 
slowness  is  a  dangerous  vice  in  the  head. 

The  smoker's  true  drawing  room  is  his  cigar; 
the  drinker's,  the  bar. 

Smooth  surfaces  are  hard  to  glue  together. 

Sober    we    must    nearly    always    be;    sombre, 
hardly  ever. 


The  best  reply  to  inopportune  wit  is  sobriety; 
to  inopportune  sombreness,  wit. 



Sobriety,  to  be  truly  divine,  must  be  cheerful. 
Mirth,  to  be  truly  human,  must  be  sober. 

The   "Spirit   of  the  Age,"   whatever  it   is,    is 
always  wrong,  and  a  man  of  spirit  is  given  spirit 
expressly  for  resisting  it. 

It  is  on  the  whitest  cloth  that  the  spot  is  most 

The  advice  to  hitch  your  wagon  to  a  star  is 
old;  not  so  old  the  caution  not  to  hitch  your 
star  to  a  wagon,  but  equally  needful. 

The  stars  that  fall  are  only  those  out  of  their 

Who  seeks  for  only  flowers  may  be  content 
to  be  looking  down.     Who  seeks  for  stars  must 
be  looking  up. 

In  storms  a  feather  flies  as  high  as  the  eagle, 
and  the  oak  is  uprooted  sooner  than  the  vine  it 

The  deep  stream  is  not  heard  until  opposed 
by  some  obstacle. 

Who    trusts    his    own    strength    is    but    little 
stronger  than  he  who  fears  his  weakness. 



Self -distrust  is  already  a  kind  of  strength;  self- 
reliance  is  already  a  kind  of  weakness. 

Who  fears  his  weakness  may  be  weaker  for  a 
time  than  he  who  trusts  his  strength.      He  is 
sure  to  be  stronger  in  the  end. 

The   strength   to    uproot    weeds    is    had   by 
nearly  all,  but  the  great  need  is  to  distinguish 
them  from  the  crops,  flowers. 

It   needs   strength   to   undertake   work   when 
rested,   and  it  needs  strength    to  abstain  from 
work  when  tired. 

To  trust   one's   strength  adds  much  thereto, 
but  not  so  much  as  to  be  trustful  in  weakness. 

Is    it    weakness    alone    that    needs    support? 
Strength  needs  it  more  .  .  . 


He  is  so  strong,  he  is  always  so  cheerful. 
Well,  mayhap  God  knows  that  were  a  single 
sorrow  to  hang  upon  one  of  his  limbs,  it  would 
break  clean  off. 


The  strong  can  afford  to  be  weak  at  times, 
his  weakness  may  easily  become  tenderness. 
The  weak  can  ill  afford  a  certain  strength — it 
may  easily  become  obstinacy. 



All  love  justice,  few  love  the  just. 


The  sublimity  of  the  mountain  is  not  in  the 
mountain  but  in  us. 

Futile  attempt:  to  extemporise  success. 

Great  he  who  succeeds,  greater  he  who  can 
dispense  with  success. 

Success  is  full  of  promise  till  we — get  it. 

Success    is    only    facilitated    by    talent,    it    is 
conditioned  by  temperament,  and  assured  only 
by  character. 

Success  men  ascribe  to  themselves;  failure,  to 

The  sun  is  visible  for  some  time  before  and 
after  rising.    We  cannot  like  the  sun  be  of  service 
before  we  are  born,   we  can  be  of  inspiration 
after  we  die. 

The  sun  sets  the  example  of  imparting  painted 
glory  to  the  very  clouds  that  would  fain  obscure  it. 

Let  us  imitate  the  sun:  which  shows  its  greatest 
and  most  pleasing  countenance  when  lowest  down. 



The  same  sunshine  which  ripens  the  fruit  also 
withers  it. 


Sunshine  conies  only  from  one  quarter  at  a 
time,  clouds  may  come  from  all  quarters  at  once  .  .  . 

The  superfluous  is  as  necessary  as  the  needful ; 
only  it  can  be  dispensed  with  where  the  other 

The  superior  man  will  ever  keep  out  of  sight 
two  things:  others'  faults,  his  own  merits. 

A  mark  of  superiority:  to  see  the  whereabouts 
of  your  inferiority. 

Where  folk  fail  to  see  the  superior  man  it  is 
because  they  think  they  see  over  him. 

Suspicion  is  seldom  on  time.     It  is  apt  to  be 
either  too  early  or  too  late.    Hence  I  have  no  use 
therefor.    I  prefer  caution  instead. 

The  swollen  arm   is  not  the  stronger  for  its 

There  are  two  ways  of  handling  a  sword:  by 
the  hilt  and  by  the  blade. 


Sympathise  with  the  great:  it  lifts  you  up  to 
them.     vSympathise  with  the  small:  it  does  not 
drag  you  down  to  them, 

Taste  appreciates  the  noble,  talent  ignores  the 

Taste  may  be  had  without  brains,  it  is  tact 
that  must  be  had  with  brains. 

Tact  deals  with  others'  feelings;  taste,  with  oursj 

For  appreciating  the  work  of  others,  the  in- 
dispensable thing  is  sympathy :  to  estimate  aright 
ours,  the  needful  thing  is  taste. 

Tact  is  love  improvised. 


Tact  is  momentary  love  even  for  the  common ; 
taste  is  abiding  love  only  for  the  beautiful. 


Who  prides  himself  upon  his  talents  should  be 
able  to  show  what  he  had  done  before  his  birth 
to  deserve  them. 


The  very  arrangement  which  keeps  the  wheel 
on  the  track  prevents  it  from  service  off  the 
track.  Misapplied  talent  is  only  a  wheel  off 
the  track. 

DEFINITIONS     .  455 


Taste  is  only  appreciation  of  the  temporal  and 
local;  and  hence  is  ever  changeable  in  its  very 
nature.  Tact  is  kindliness  even  for  the  temporal 
and  local,  and  is  changeable  only  in  its  application. 

Two  great  drawbacks  to  talent:  to  be  so  poor 
as  to  be  dependent;  to  be  so  rich  as  to  be  inde- 

Talents  are  a  man's  guard  of  honor  when  he  is 
dead;  his  prisoner  sentinels  while  he  is  alive. 

3019-      %. 
The  tall  reach  higher,  and  have  to — stoop  lower. 

Your  teacher  the  shallow  man  also   can  be — 
he  needs  to  know  the   only  next   step   beyond 
yours.     Your  guide  must  be  the  profound  man 
—must  have  gone  all  the  way  before  you. 

"His  defects  are  only  those  of  temperament!" 
But  temper  is  part  of  character. 

"That  passage  brings  tears  to  my  eyes" !     And 
so  does  the — wind  .  .  ; 

To   enter   any   temple   we   must   fall    on   our 


The  temple  itself  few  are  able  to  build,  but  all 
are  able  to  furnish  its  stones. 



Every  true  temple  is  like    Solomon's  reared 
in  silence. 

Against  temptation  the  surest  victors  are  those 
who  run  away. 

To  go  into  temptation  to  find  how  strong  you 
are  is  to  go  before  a  mirror  with  closed  eyes  to 
find  out  how  you  look  when  asleep. 

.  3.028' 
From  temptation  it  is  easier  to  get  away  then 

to  keep  away. 


Others'  goodness  you  may   behold   with   joy; 

your  own,  only  with  suspicion. 

The  test  of  a  good  intention  is  that  you  can 
ask  God's  blessing  upon  its  becoming  a  deed;  the 
test  of  a  good  deed  is  that  you  can  thank  God 
for  its  not  having  remained  a  mere  intention. 

A  searching  test:  to  ask  God  to  deal  with  you 
to-day  as  you  dealt  with  others  yesterday. 

The  test  of  greatness  of  soul  is  the  readiness 
with   which   beauties   are   perceived   in   what   is 
plain,  and  blemishes  ignored  in  what  is  beautiful. 

The  test  of  the  highest  heroism  is  the  readiness 
to   appear  ridiculous   to   others   rather   than   to 



The  hardest  step  is  over  the  threshold,   and 
this  is  what  makes  it  the  longest. 

No  time  is  more  lost  than  that  spent  in  hating 
the  errors  of  others  and  regreting  our  own. 

Men    divide    time    by    days,    weeks,    months, 
years.      But  there  are  only  two  essential  divisions 
of  time:  the  present  which  is  ours,   the  future 
which  is  God's. 

To-day  is  seldom  sane.    It  is  safe  from  the  asy- 
lum only  when  it  has  become  yesterday. 

Of  trees  give  me  the  evergreen,  which  dresses 
the  same  summer  and  winter. 

It  is  the  trees  on  the  hilltop  that  show  the 
prevailing  winds. 

Cut  the  trunk,  the  branches  fall  of  themselves. 

"We   are   both   branches   of   the   same   tree!" 
But  what  if  you  are  only  a  sucker? 

The     enduring    trunk    casts    a    shadow,    the 
fading  leaf  gives  the  shade. 

45  8-  APHORISMS 


The  troubles  of  life  are  like  the  mountains: 
imposing  enough  when  looked  at  or  up  to,  but 
insignificant  enough  when  looked  down  from 


Two  men  are  not  to  be  fully  trusted:  who 
knows  not  how  to  command  himself,  who  knows 
not  how  to  obey  others. 

I  hear  the  virtue  of  unconsciousness  of  one's 
own  merit  praised.  But  if  blindness  to  my 
neighbor  is  no  merit,  neither  is  blindness  to  my- 
self. Not  the  being  conscious  of  the  merit  is 
the  vice,  but  the  priding  oneself  thereon. 

To  understand  me  he  need  not  be  my  equal; 
but  to  misunderstand  me  he  must  be  my  inferior. 

Uniform    gentleness    of   manner    is    like    pure 
rainwater,  and  often  alas!  as  insipid. 

Men   are   never    so    near   being    unreasonable 
themselves  as  when  fighting  unreasonableness. 

It  is  easy  to  be  truthful  to  liars,  loving  to  haters, 
noble  to  the  mean,  tolerant  with  the  intolerant. 
Only  to  be  reasonable  with  the  unreasonable- 
there  is  the  difficulty. 

Even  the  useless  life  may  become  useful  by 
patient  endurance  of  its  very  uselessness. 



When  am  I  most  useful?  When  like  the 
hassock:  got  only  for  a  foot-rest,  but  serving 
also,  if  need  be,  for  reaching  to  the  top  shelf. 

The  greater  the  vacancy,  the  swifter  the  rush 
of  wind  to  fill  it. 

The  price  of  things  is  easily  got,  it  is  their 
value  that  is  problematic. 

Everything  has  two  values:  its  eternal  which 
is  fixed,  and  is  either  priceless  or  zero ;  its  temporal 
which  fluctuates  from  zero  to  pricelessness,  the 
price  varying  inversely  to  its  value. 

The  ear  is  more  discriminating  of  sound  than 
the  eye  is  of  color  and  size.    The  voice  is  thus  a 
better  index  of  the  man  than  his  face. 

The  making  of  a  vow  is  a  confession  of  future 
weakness.    The  breaking  of  a  vow  is  a  confession 
of  present  weakness. 

Want    may  be   easily  endured,   not  so  easily 
the  fear  of  want. 

For   rinsing    dishes    cold   water   may    do;    for 
washing  them  it  must  be  hot. 

Smoke  is  a  sign  of  waste  of  fuel,  noise  is  a  sign 
of  waste  of  power. 




Weakness  has  two  excuses:  its  own  existence, 
the  existence  of  strength  in  others  wherewith 
to  help. 


Few  are  cheated  by  the  scales  they  use;  many 
by  the  weights  they  put  into  them. 

All  know  that  weights  are  hard  to  bear  for 
one.    Few  know  that  compact  weights  are  carried 
easier  by  one  than  by  two. 

The  wind  extinguishes  the  match,  but  fans  the 


The  wind  prostrates  the  plant,  and  sows  the  seed. 

The  first  windfalls  are  apt  to  be  wormy. 

The  wing  on  the  bird  upholds  it;  off  the  bird 
it  falls  of  its  own  weight. 

The  too  serious  are  easily  forgiven,  not  so  the 
too  witty. 

Like  the  astronomer  the  professional  wit  also 
looks    at    great    objects;   but    with  his  telescope 

Wonder  has  an  humble  ancestry,  but  illustrious 
progeny;   it   is   the   daughter   of   ignorance,    the 
mother  of  knowledge. 



The  greatest  value  of  most  work  is  that  for 
the  time  it  keeps  folk  busy. 

Who   has  no   pleasure  in   work   will   have   to 
make  hard  work  of  pleasure. 

All  are  eager  for  the  kernel,  but  worth  is  tested 
at  the  breaking  of  the  shell. 

Two    well-known    but    unheeded    facts:    that 
anxiety   is   no   baker   and   produces   no   loaves; 
that  worry  is  no  tailor,  and  makes  no  coats. 

Familiarity  with  wrong  reconciles  us  to  it. 

The  fear  of  doing  wrong  may  keep  one  from 
doing  wrong.     The  fear  of  not  doing  right  will 
keep  one  from  doing  right. 

To  be  more  than  half  right  is  still  to  be  alto- 
gether wrong.       There   is   no  medium   between 
right  and  wrong  any  more  than  between  truth 
and  falsehood. 

Better  a  kind  No  than  a  harsh  Yes. 

;  3078. 

Yes  is  a  whole  third  longer  than  No. 



The  surest  way  to  win  a  victory  is  to  push  on. 
The  surest  way  to  enjoy  it  is  to  stop  short. 

Make  your  work  as  small  as  you  please,  only 
give  it  broad  wings. 

Perfection  is  the  one  unattainability  we  must 
yet  ever  strive  to  attain. 

If  censured  look  to  yourself;    if  praised,  look 
to  him. 

To  hold   sound    principles   is   only  the   small 
part  of  conduct.     To  use  sound  judgment  in  ap- 
plying them  is  its  great  part. 

We  should  eat  and  drink  below  our  means, 
dress  according   to    our  means;  give  beyond  our 

Always    remember    to    hold    up    the    highest 
standards  in  theory,  but  never  forget  in  practice 
that  a  note  pitched  too  high  is  equally  inaudible 
with  one  pitched  too  low. 



As  long  as  in  giving  light  you  still  burn  yourself 
out,  you  are  only  a  candle.  Be  patient,  it  may 
yet  be  thine  to  be  a  star   .    .    . 


And  so  the  rule  of  conduct  is  to  be :  the  great- 
est possible  happiness  of  the  greatest  possible 
number  for  the  longest  possible  time? 

My  abused,  cheated,  homeless  Indian  friend, 
I  will  forthwith  contribute  to  at  least  thy  greatest 
possible  happiness  for  the  longest  possible  time. 
So  here  I  am — do  with  me  for  thy  pleasure  as 
thou  wilt ! 

But,  alas!  I  have  only  one  scalp,  and  it  takes 
only  a  few  seconds  to  scalp  ma  .    .    . 

The  greatest  possible  happiness  of  the  greatest 
possible  number  for  the  longest  possible  time  .    .   . 

Be  gentle!    The  sea  is  held  in  check  by  a  beach 
of  sand  as  much  as  by  a  wall  of  rock. 

By  all  means  have  your  way,  if  you  wish  to 
lose  your  way. 


By  all  means  let  well  enough  alone,  only  let 
also  ill  enough  alone. 


By  all  means  strive  for  the  crown;  only  be 
ready  to  wear  its  thorny  rim  first. 

Cover  your  head  if  you  wish  not  to  catch  cold ; 
uncover  your  heart,  if  you  wish  to  catch  heat. 


Do  everything  f ourwise :  do  it  cheerfully,  do  it 
zealously,  do  it  thoroughly,  do  it  simply.  Cheer 
makes  the  task  a  pleasure,  zeal  makes  it  success, 
thoroughness  makes  it  perfect,  simplicity  makes 
it  beautiful. 


Fail  in  everything,  only  be  not  a  failure  your- 


For  information  it  is  well  to  read  the  newest 
books;  for  culture,  the  oldest. 

Forgive   all — in   justice   to   him.      Forget   not 
quite   all — in  justice   to   yourself?      No,    but   in 
justice  to  others. 

Has  he  wronged  you?    Give  him  time  to  forget 
it  by  forgetting  it  yourself. 

Hate  not  the  useless,  they  are  for  thee  to  be 
useful  to. 

Have  a  pocket  for  your  successes,  and  keep  it 
tight,  lest  they  issue  thence  ere  long  as  failures. 
Have  a  pocket  for  your  failures,  and  keep  it  open, 
till  they  issue  thence  as  successes. 

Have  patience  with  the  foolish:     even  to  the 
lot  of  geese  it  may  befall  to  save  a  Capitol. 



Have  your  holy  of  holies,  but  also  some  high 
priest  to  enter  it  at  least  once  a  year. 

Hold  strong  ideas,  but  not  strongly. 

Humility  by  all  means  before  your  superior, 
and  by  all  means  also  before  your  inferior. 

It  is  not  enough  to  carry  a  compass,  we  must 
also  keep  the  magnet  away. 

Learn  from  the  funnel,  which  though  wide  at 
the  inlet,  is  narrow  .at  the  outlet. 

Learn  from  the  river,  which  when  it  cannot  go 
through  the  mountain  goes  around  it. 

Look  not  for  a  scorpion  under  every  stone,  but 
look  for  a  viper  under  every  pleasure,  even  that 
of  giving. 

Make  the  best  of  yourself,  no  one  else  will. 
Stand  up  for  yourself,  some  will  soon  stand  with 
you.  Believe  in  God  for  yourself,  many  will  soon 
believe  in  you.  Deny  yourself,  a  host  will  soon 
follow  you. 

Never  be  independent  unless  you  must. 



No  master  but  duty,  no  servant  but  thyself, 
no  creed  but  truth,  no  enemy  but  a  liar,  no  family 
but  mankind,  no  country  but  the  world. 

No  one  can  live  without  being  a  debtor;  no  one 
should  live  without  being  a  creditor. 


Not  the  going  through  the  mire  is  blameworthy, 
but  the  leaving  of  its  dirt  on  the  clothes. 

Of  importance  is  that  we  believe;    of  next  im- 
portance, what  we  believe. 

Praise  only  to  encourage,  blame  only  to  prevent. 

Put  on  indeed  your  best  clothes  on  Sunday, 
but  think  your  best  thoughts  also  on  other  days. 


Of  the  tree  the  roots  must  be  many,  the  trunk 
need  be  only  one.  With  man  it  is  the  reverse; 
the  outward  deeds  may  be  many,  the  underlying 
purpose  must  be  one. 


However  good  a  man,  from  the  moment  he 
considers  himself  good  he  ceases  to  be  good. 


The  surest  way  to  win  men's  hearts  is  by 
frankness  and  sincerity,  but  also  the  surest  way 
to  lose  them. 



To  make  others  feel  you  need  only  feel  your- 
self. To  make  others  think,  you  must  feel  as 
well  as  think  yourself. 


To  please  your  audience,  give  them  what  they 
know;   to  instruct  it,  give  them  what  you  know. 

You  can  do  another's  work.    You  cannot  per- 
form another's  duty. 

To  see,  open  your  eyes;  to  see  more,  close  them. 

To  sow  you  may  stand ;  to  reap  you  must  stoop. 

To  start  the  fire  you  must  not  mind  the  smoke. 

The  architect  builds  many  houses  for  others 
which  he  never  inhabits  himself.     This  is  the 
profession  by  which  he  lives.     Let  it  also  be  ours 
in  which  we  live. 

To  those  who  hunger  now  give  bread ;  to  those 
who  may  hunger  later,  give  only  seed. 

Never  try  to  cure  a  man  of  his  fault  till  he  is 
ready  for  it.    The  time  for  a  funeral  is  only  after 
a  death. 



To   yourself   give   what   you   need;     to   your 
neighbor  what  you  can. 


Strike  the  iron  while  'tis  hot;   but  better  still: 
strike  the  iron  until  it  is  hot. 

Take  heed  what  ye  hear,  means  to  shut  your 
ears  as  well  as  to  open  them. 

The  furrows  are  made  for  us ;   ours  is  to  put  in 
the  seed  and  cover  it. 

Upon  our  destination  we  need  only  keep  our 
eyes.  The  arrival  there  is  not  always  in  our 
power;  but  the  proper  care  of  our  conveyance 
during  the  journey — this  is  properly  our  part  and 
in  our  power. 

Some  are  slow  with  their  ticket  and  fare,  and 
wait  therewith  till  the  conductor  is  tried,  dis- 
pleased. Let  us  so  live  that  when  called  to  pay 
our  last  fare,  we  be  not  found  fumbling,  but 
ready  therewith  in  hand .    .    . 

Some  there  are  like  the  serpent :    which,  though 
it  drink  milk,  yet  speweth  forth  poison.    God  grant 
us  to  be  like  the  cloud  which  though  it  riseth  from 
the  salt  water  returneth  to  earth  as  fresh.    .    . 



We  should  go  through  the  world  with  one  hand 
empty,  ready  to  take;  with  the  other  full,  ready 
to  give. 


We  should  imitate  in  life  what  we  do  in  the 
railway  train;  look  placidly  at  what  is  nigh, 
leaving  what  is  far  to  come  toward  us  of  itself. 

3*37  ■ 

We  are  put  here  to  do  not  what  we  like  but 
what  we  must.  Let  us  then  learn  to  like  what 
we  must. 


Reject  no  precept  as  a  commonplace  as  long  as 
its  practice  is  uncommon. 

What  was  said  of  you  in  anger  probably  mis- 
represents him — this  forget.    But  it  also  probably 
truly  represents  you — this  remember. 

There  are  two  ways  of  getting  your  chestnuts 
open:     by  pounding  them  yourself,  by  waiting 
for  the  frost  to  crack  them. 

Sunshine,  cultivate  sunshine.     It  turns  even  a 
drop  of  water  into  a  jewel. 

There  are  no  limited  partnerships  in  Ethics. 
Your  guilt,  like  your  capital,  may  be  small  or 
great,  but  the  investment  must  be  all  yours. 
You  cannot  be  half  innocent  and  half  guilty  at 
the  same  time. 



Humility  will  exalt  you  only  as  long  as  you 
keep  low:  like  the  swing  which  raises  you  from 
the  ground  only  as  long  as  you  keep  in  touch 
with  the  ground. 


Who  has  too  much  faith  in  himself  may  yet 
succeed;  who  has  too  much  faith  in  others  will 
surely  fail. 



"  You  cannot  guide  the  multitude  without  de- 
ceiving it,"  said  the  wisest  of  the  Greeks.  And 
truly  enough,  if  it  is  to  be  guided  without  com- 
mission from  above.  It  is  a  mark  of  the  divine 
commission  of  Moses  and  of  the  One  greater  than 
Moses  that  the  one  did  guide  God's  chosen, 
visible  host,  that  the  Other  still  guides  God's 
chosen,  invisible  host — without  deceiving  .    .    . 


Man  has  a  body,  a  soul,  and  a  spirit.  The 
needs  of  the  body  were  meant  to  be  supplied  by 
nature,  and  this  is  the  field  of  true  science.  The 
needs  of  the  soul  were  meant  to  be  supplied  by 
the  wisdom  of  man,  and  this  is  the  field  of  true 
art.  The  Bible  has  much  of  science,  and  still 
more  of  art,  but  only  incidentally.  The  needs  of 
the  spirit  were  alone  meant  to  be  supplied  neither 
by  science  nor  by  art,  but  by  a  written  revelation, 
and  the  Bible  is  this  revelation. 

Men  are  short,  not  of  experience,  but  of  the 
ability  to  profit  thereby. 

Earthly  peace  may  be  obtained  by  imprisoning 
our   passions;    heavenly  peace,   only  by  exiling 



Earthly  tonics  leave  men  feeling  better  than 
before.  It  is  a  mark  of  heavenly  tonic  that  it 
leaves  men  feeling  themselves  worse  than  before.. 

With  the  small  their  lives  are  often  better  than 
their  thoughts.     With  the  great  their  thoughts 
are  ever  better  than  their  lives. 

A  man's  words  should  be  measured  only  by  the 
truth  that  is  in  them;    his  deeds,  by  the  spirit 
that  is  in  him. 

He  is  great  who  remains  poised  when  men  take 
note  of  him;    but  greater  he  who  still  remains 
poised  even  though  men  take  no  note  of  him. 

Prometheus  chained  to  the  rock  is  his  punish- 
ment; the  eagle  daily  plucking  at  his  liver  is  the 
merciful  distraction  therefrom.  Who  can  steal 
fire  from  heaven  suffers  more  in  being  chained  to 
the  rock  than  from  a  hole  in  his  liver.  Of  the  two 
I  would  choose  the  heartache  rather  than  the 
toothache,  said  Heine,  in  a  moment  of  shallowness. 

Even  the  wisest  are  seldom  wise  in  all  their  own 
affairs.     It  is  a  proof  of  man's  fallen  state  that  a 
man's  wisdom  consists  chiefly  in  his  ability  to 
note  the  follies  of  others. 



The  great  man  is  apt  to  make  two  serious  mis- 
takes: first,  in  thinking  that  others  are  like  him; 
and  then  in  treating  them  as  if  they  were  so  unlike 

Dislike — what  is  it  but  merely  being  unlike? 
Mere  dislike  is  therefore  hardly  ever  in  itself  an 
evidence  of  the  justice  of  the  feeling,  unless  one 
can  challenge  the  Universe  to  show  that  one  never 
dislikes  aught  but  the  mean  and  ignoble.  Per- 
sonal dislikes,  which  are  so  oft  palliated  with  the 
name  of  uncongeniality,  constitutional  antipathy, 
are  oftener  a  sign  of  a  not  wholly  healthy  indivi- 
duality; and  it  is  the  art  of  Life  to  learn  to  dis- 
like only  what  is  wrong;  and  to  like  only  the 
right,  whether  it  be  agreeable  or  not.  The  fatal- 
lest  intellectual  somersault  is  to  seek  for  reasons 
that  condemn  a  thing  which  would  never  be 
sought  but  for  those  cherished  dislikes.  Aesop's 
Wolf  and  the  Lamb,  who  tho'  drinking  down 
stream,  was  yet  to  die  because  it  muddled  the 
waters  of  the  wolf  who  had  been  drinking  up- 
stream, remains  ever  a  modern  as  well  as  an 
ancient  instance.  And  the  same  is  true  of  likes — 
in  the  reverse  direction ;  but  with  this  difference : 
Wrong  likes  seldom  harm  any  but  him  who  in- 
dulges therein.  Wrong  dislike  may  ruin  both 
him  against  whom  it  is  harbored  as  well  as  him 
that  harbors  it. 





Among  American  men  of  Letters,  Emerson  is 
easily  the  principal  figure;  nay  rightly  under- 
stood, he  is  perhaps  the  only  American  man  of 
letters.  In  a  recently  gotten  together  series  of 
American  Men  of  Letters,  one  volume  was  devoted 
to  a  cyclopedia  editor,  and  another  to  a  maker  of 
a  dictionary.  On  such  a  view  of  literature  some 
rather  notable  postman  might  also  some  day 
find  his  place  yet  among  men  of  letters.  But 
literature  is  something  more  than  the  handling  of 
a  pen,  or  perchance  of  a  type-writer,  for  some  six 
hours  daily,  preceded  by  a  call  at  the  club  in  the 
morning,  followed  by  walk  on  the  avenue  in  the 
afternoon,  and  concluded  by  roast  goose  and 
onion  in  the  evening. 


Now  with  the  exception  of  the  literature  of  the 
anti-slavery  days,  when  the  dilettante  colors  had 
at  last  to  be  wiped  off  the  literary  glasses  for  aye- 
American  men  of  letters,  where  they  are  not  mere 
exchangers  of  written  commodities  for  dollarish 
things,  are  not  so  much  American  writers,  as 
cosmopolitan  writers.  America's  great  histori- 
ans, Bancroft,  Prescott,  Motley,  make  the  word 
'  "America"  in  their  case  a  mere  geographical 
expression.  America's  classic  Irving;  its  singers 
like  Longfellow  and  Lowell,  are  no  more  American 
than  is  its  philosophy,  its  science,  or  what  little  it 
hath  of  culture.     They  are  mostly  cosmopolitan, 


or  rather  they  are  palimpsests:  European  texts 
covered  with  American  script.  Of  the  few  excep- 
tions to  this  nigh  universal  rule,  Oliver  Wendell 
Holmes  was,  for  wholesomeness,  far  too  conscious 
of  the  physiological  fact  that  men  in  addition  to 
their  weeping  apparatus  are  also  endowed  with  a 
laughing  apparatus.  And  to  appeal  solely  to  the 
Democritus  in  man  is  to  descend  to  the  mere 
amuser.  Nay  when  even  the  fine-grained  Lowell 
doffs  for  brief  time  his  Eurpoean  dress,  and  en- 
deavors to  don  an  American  garb,  he  seldom  gets 
further  than  that  pointed  cap  which  in  the  Middle 
Ages  was  worn  by  those  privileged  folk,  who, 
under  the  guise  of  jest,  could  afford  to  tell  truth 
to  royal  ears  without  risk  of  cap  and  head  rolling 
off  together  at  the  block.  When  even  Lowell 
leaves  his  European  seriousness  to  become  an 
American  humorist,  he  becomes  a  piece  of  Ameri- 
can scenery ;  a  kind  of  Yellowstone  Park  on  the  one 
side,  and  a  strip  of  bad  lands  on  the  other;  a 
Virgilian  Pastoral  scene  on  the  right,  and  a 
twenty-foot  Quaker  Oat -meal  advertisement  on 
the  left. 

The  only  other  truly  American  man  of  literary 
genius,  Nathaniel  Hawthorne,  was  betrayed  into 
accepting  fiction  as  the  expression  of  his  art,  and 
has  thus  spent  a  life-time  in  digging  for  iron  with  a 
spade  of  gold.  Emerson,  however,  is  a  genuine 
American,  a  veritable  Yankee.  In  extravagance 
of  a  certain  kind,  he  too  indeed  is  in  nowise 
wanting.  But  his  is  not  American  extravagance, 
his  is  not  Yankee  extravagance.  While  his 
literary  shortcomings  are  only  those  of  the 
human  mind,  his  literary  virtues  are  those  of  the 


Yankee  blood.  The  extra  drop  of  nervous 
fluid  which  infused  into  the  Englishman's  phleg- 
matic temper  makes  the  American,  becomes  in 
Emerson  a  nervous  battery,  and  makes  his 
sentences  become  a  series  of  electric  shocks. 
Emerson  is  indeed  a  dozen  ancestors  rolled  into 
one.  He  has  much  of  Adam,  and  not  a  little  of 
Cain  before,  and  of  Noah  after  the  flood.  He 
has  a  great  deal  of  Plato  and  Montaigne,  and 
somewhat  of  Budda  and  Zoroaster.  But  he 
has  most  of  all  that  in  him  which  makes  Eli 
Whitney  restless  until  he  has  abbreviated  the 
making  of  cotton  by  his  gin.  He  has  that  in 
him  which  makes  Fulton  restless  until  he  has 
relegated  the  two  and  thirty  winds  into  the  bag 
of  Aeolus,  there  to  remain  useless  because  of  the 
use  of  steam.  Emerson  has  that  energy  within 
him  which  makes  the  manufacturer  restless  until 
he  has  hitched  his  wheel  to  the  falls  of  Niagara; 
the  economist  restless  until  he  has  transferred  the 
fire  of  the  volcano  into  his  own  oven,  wherewith 
to  bake  his  bread.  He  has  that  energy  within  him 
which  makes  the  Sozodont  owner  restless  until  he 
has  announced  its  merits  to  every  passenger  train 
from  the  roadside ;  that  restlessness  which  heaps 
societies  into  associations ;  associations  into  com- 
binations; and  combinations  into  trusts.  Fine- 
grained souls  justly  shake  their  heads  at  the  trusts, 
and  ascribe  their  rise  to  the  universal  hunger  for 
gold.  But  the  evil  itself  has  its  root  in  less 
ignoble  soil ;  not  so  much  in  the  universal  hunger 
for  gold,  as  rather  in  that  universal  American 
hunger  for  the  gigantic,  which  has  found  expres- 
sion in  Emerson's  own  right  noble  phrase,  Hitch 
your  wagon  to  a  star. 


Accordingly,  the  first  characteristic  of  Emerson 
is  that  though  he  has  not  only  the  eagle's  eye,  but 
also  the  swiftness  of  his  pounce;  he  has  in  addi- 
tion thereto,  that  balancing  practicalness  of  the 
American,  that  saving  shrewdness  of  the  Yankee, 
which  keeps  him  as  a  man  of  letters  from  many  a 
grievous  error  of  his  kin.  He  is  caught  in  Man- 
chester at  a  banquet  of  saw-dust-meally  kind  of 
folk,  and  is  awaited  to  open  his  mouth  in  public 
speech.  Archibald  Allison  presides,  and  unlike 
Parliamentary  Presider,  does  in  nowise  keep 
silent.  Cobden  is  there,  Punchman  is  there,  and 
Dickens  makes  himself  visible  by  a  letter.  All 
these  notabilities  must,  in  some  way,  be  taken  due 
note  of,  when  this  Pegasus,  stalled  for  .once  with 
wingless  oxen,  has  at  last  to  spread  his  wings, 
else  the  proprieties  of  the  notable  occasion  shall 
be  rudely  disturbed.  Emerson  therefore  begins, 
banquetish  enough. 

"Mr.  Chairman  and  Gentlemen:  It  is  pleasant 
to  me  to  meet  this  great  and  brilliant  company - 
and  doubly  pleasant  to  see  the  faces  of  so  many 
distinguished  persons  on  this  platform.  But  I 
have  known  all  these  persons  already.  When  I 
was  at  home,  they  were  as  near  to  me  as  they  are 
to  you.  The  arguments  of  the  League  and  its 
leader  are  known  to  all  the  friends  of  free  trade. 
The  gayeties  and  genius,  the  political,  the  social, 
the  parietal  wit  of  "Punch"  go  duly  every  fort- 
night to  every  boy  and  girl  in  Boston  and  New 
York.  Sir,  when  I  came  to  sea,  I  found  the  "His- 
tory of  Europe"  (by  Archibald  Allison)  on  the 
ship's  cabin  table,  the  property  of  the  captain — ; 
a  sort  of  programme,  or  playbill,  to  tell  the  sea- 


faring  New  Englander  what  he  shall  find  on  his 
landing  here.  And  as  for  Dombey,  sir,  there  is 
no  land  where  paper  exists  to  print  on,  where  it  is 
not  found;  no  man  who  can  read  that  does  not 
read  it;  and  if  he  cannot,  he  finds  some  charitable 
pair  of  eyes  that  can,  and  hears  it." 


As  one  listens  to  these  words,  as  one  reads  them 
on  printed  page  of  his  collected  works,  one  rubs 
his  eyes  in  wonder.  Is  this  Emerson,  the  great 
Emerson?  Ralph  Waldo  Emerson?  Even 
Homer  sometimes  nods,  but  his  is  not  nodding: 
this  is  snoring.  For  with  the  sole  exception  of 
that  fine,  truly  Emersonian  phrase — "If  he  cannot 
read,  he  finds  some  charitable  pair  of  eyes  that 
can,  and  hears,"  every  word  of  the  speech  so  far 
might  have  well  come  from  the  lips  of  Mr.  Chaun- 
cey  Depew,  so  proper,  so  after-dinnerish,  so 
swallow-tail  like.  " Great  and  brilliant  com- 
pany;" "So  many  distinguished  persons  on  this 
platform;"  "Every  boy  and  girl  in  New  York  and 
Boston  reading  Punch;"  "No  man  that  can  read 
that  does  not  read  Dombey," — is  this  the  voice  of 
Jacob?  Are  not  the  hands  here  of  Esau?  Hath 
Saul  fallen  among  lying  prophets?  Pegasus, 
hast  thou  too  become  a  stalled  ox,  or  per- 
chance, a  fatted,  foolish  calf?  No,  Pegasus  has 
not  become  an  ox,  stalled  or  otherwise.  In  an 
instant  he  breaks  the  shackles  of  earth;  he  spreads 
his  wings,  and  up  he  soars;  for  Emerson  goes  on: 

"But  these  things  are  not  for  me  to  say,  these 

compliments,  though  true,  would  better  come  from 

.one  who  felt  and  understood  these  merits  more. 

I  am  not  here  to  exchange  civilities  with  you,  but 


rather  to  speak  of  that  which  I  am  sure  interests 
these  gentlemen  more  than  their  own  praises;  of 
that  which  is  good  in  holidays  and  working  days 
the  same  in  one  century  and  in  another  cen- 
tury :  That  which  lures  a  solitary  American  in  the 
woods  with  the  wish  to  see  England,  is  the  moral 
peculiarity  of  the  Saxon  race,  its  commanding 
sense  of  right  and  wrong,  the  love  and  devotion 
to  that — this  is  the  imperial  trait  which  arms  them 
with  the  sceptre  of  the  globe,"  and  then  goes  on 
with  an  apotheosis  of  England  which  might  have 
well  fallen  from  the  lips  of  Demosthenes  himself. 

And  this  shrewd  Yankee  wit  which  delivers 
him  so  successfully  when  entrapped  into  Free 
Trade  Banquet  Speech  serves  him  in  equally 
good  stead  where  the  affair  is  more  serious  even 
than  banquet :  And  this  is  the  manner  in  which  he 
is  delivered:  "Do  not  tell  me,"  he  says,  "as  a  good 
man  did  today,  of  my  obligation  to  put  all  poor 
men  in  good  situations.  Are  they  my  poor?  I 
tell  thee,  thou  foolish  philanthropist,  that  I 
grudge  the  dollar,  the  dime,  the  cent,  I  give  to 
such  men  as  do  not  belong  to  me,  and  to  whom  I 
do  not  belong.  There  is  a  class  of  persons  to 
whom  by  all  spiritual  affinity  I  am  bought  and 
sold;  for  them  will  I  go  to  prison  if  need  be; 
but  your  miscellaneous  popular  charities;  the 
education  at  college  of  fools ;  the  building  of  meet- 
ing houses  to  the  vain  end  to  which  many  now 
stand;  alms  to  sots,  and  the  thousandfold  Relief 
Societies — though  I  confess  with  shame  I  some- 
times succumb  and  give  the  dollar,  it  is  a  wicked 
dollar,  which  by  and  by  I  shall  have  the  manhood 
to  withold." 



Lastly,  this  shrewd  Yankee  wit  saves  him  most 
effectually,  not  only  from  the  accidental  pitfalls 
which  lie  in  the  way  of  the  literary  man,  but  it 
saves  him  also  from  the  one  pitfall  into  which  all 
other  philosophers  have  hitherto  fallen  most 
successfully.  For  Emerson  is  first  of  all  essen- 
tially a  philosopher,  but  that  which  makes  phil- 
osophers a  weariness  to  ordinary  flesh,  is  in 
Emerson  nearly  wholly  wanting.  The  hereness 
of  the  there,  and  the  thereness  of  the  here;  the 
thisness  of  the  that,  and  the  thatness  of  the  this; 
the  howness  of  the  why,  and  the  whyness  of  the 
how;  the  beingness  of  ising,  and  the  isingness  of 
being — these  he  slyly  left  to  his  transcendental 
companions.  Whatever  interest  he  too  had  in  the 
treeness  of  the  tree,  and  the  thought ness  of  the 
thought ;  the  ideaness  of  the  idea,  and  the  ought- 
ness  of  the  ought;  the  willness  of  the  shall,  and 
the  shallness  of  the  will — the  elaboration  thereof 
into  verbiage  he  left  to  his  friend  Alcott;  and 
whatever  charm  the  subjectivity  of  the  subject, 
and  the  objectivity  of  the  object  may  have  for 
him,  he  leaves  the  discussion  thereof  to  Samuel 
Taylor  Coleridge.  Now  and  then  he  indeed  does 
fall  into  the  strain  of  the  metaphysician,  but  he 
quickly  recollects  himself.  Emerson  sometimes 
nods,  but  sledom  as  philosopher.  Even  in  his 
little  volume  called  Nature,  where  he  apparently 
starts  out  like  a  lusty  system  builder  with  all  the 
apparatus  of  cause  and  effect,  and  inifnitude, 
and  sublimitude,  and  wherefore  and  therefore, 
and  hence  and  thence — like  an  uncoupled  engine 
he  speedily  escapes  from  his  load,  and  he  ends  at 


last  with  faring  like  Saul  of  eld,  the  son  of  Kish; 
he  starts  out  to  seek  asses,  and  lo!  he  finds  a 
Kingdom ! 

Out  of  this  shrewd  Americanism  of  Emerson 
springs  his  second  characteristic;  his  fragmen- 
tariness;  his  systemlessness ;  his  great  virtue  of 
philosophic  inconsistency.  For  a  system  of 
philosophy  is  at  best  a  pyramid  upside  down:  a 
vast  structure  built  upon  a  point,  hence  a  little 
wind  blows  it  down.  The  great  metaphysicians 
of  the  ages  have  ever  been  a  kind  of  North-Pole- 
Passage-Seeking  Company.  No  sooner  had  one 
bold  explorer  gone  forth  with  his  expedition  than 
another  must  be  sent  after  him,  if  not  indeed  al- 
ways to  bring  back  his  corpse,  at  least  to  thaw 
him  out.  Franklin  has  to  be  followed  by  Kane: 
Greeley  by  Peary;  Andree  by  some  one  else.  So 
likewise  Plato  must  be  followed  by  Aristotle; 
Descartes  by  Spinoza;  Locke  by  Berkeley;  Kant 
by  Fichte;  Hegel  by  Schelling.  Each  system  is 
indeed  in  its  own  eyes  as  unupsettable  as  the 
rock  of  Scylla;  but  the  opposing  system  is  in  its 
own  eyes  equally  unupsettable;  as  unupsettable 
as  the  rock  of  Charybdis.  And  the  poor  seeker 
after  truth  among  the  metaphysicians,  caught 
thus  between  Scylla  and  Charybdis,  is  crushed; 
crushed  indeed  now  right  ideally,  and  now  right 
materially;  now  right  noumenally,  and  now  right 
phenomenally;  now  right  transcendent  ally,  and 
now  right  experimentally,  but  crushed  he  is  all 
the  same  relentlessly,  even  though  it  be  done 
with  right  exquisite  consistency. 


It  is  the  great  merit  of  Emerson  as  a  philoso- 
pher that  he  is  a  philosopher  without  a  system, 
that  he  is  consistent  in  his  very  inconsistency. 
He  had  early  learned  the  lesson  meant  to  be  con- 
veyed by  the  placing  side  by  side  of  the  two 
verses  in  Proverbs:  "Answer  not  a  fool  according 
to  his  folly,  lest  thou  also  be  like  unto  him. 
Answer  a  fool  according  to  his  folly,  lest  he  be 
wise  in  his  own  conceit  ?" 

"The  other  terror,"  he  says,  "is  our  consistency; 
a  reverence  for  our  past  act  or  word  because  the 
eyes  of  others  have  no  other  data  for  computing 
our  orbit  than  our  past  acts,  and  we  are  loath  to 
dissappoint  them.  But  why  should  you  drag 
about  this  monstrous  corpse  of  your  memory,  lest 
you  contradict  somewhat  you  have  stated  in  this 
or  that  public  place?  Suppose  you  should  con- 
tradict yourself?  What  then?  .  .  .  Trust  your 
emotion.  In  your  metaphysics  you  have  denied 
personality  to  the  Deity,  yet  when  the  devout 
moments  of  your  soul  come,  yield  to  them  heart 
and  life,  though  they  should  clothe  God  with  shape 
and  color.  Leave  your  theory,  as  Joseph  his  coat 
in  the  hand  of  the  harlot,  and  flee.  A  foolish 
consistency  is  the  hobgoblin  of  little  minds,  adored 
by  little  statesmen  and  philosophers  and  divines. 
With  consistency  a  great  soul  has  simply  nothing 
to  do.  He  may  as  well  concern  himself  with  his 
shadow  on  the  wall.  Out  upon  your  guarded 
lips!  Sew  them  up  with  pock  thread,  do.  Else, 
if  you  would  be  a  man  speak  what  you  think  today 
in  words  as  hard  as  cannon-balls,  and  tomorrow 
speak  what  tomorrow  thinks  in  hard  words  again, 
though  it  contradict  everything  you  said  today. 


Ah,  then,  exclaim  the  aged  ladies,  you  shall  be 
sure  to  be  misunderstood!  Misunderstood!  It 
is  a  right  fool's  word.  Pythagoras  was  misunder- 
stood, and  Socrates,  and  Jesus,  and  Luther,  and 
Copermicus,  and  Galileo,  and  Newton,  and  every 
pure  and  wise  spirit  that  ever  took  flesh.  To  be 
great  is  to  be  misunderstood." 

It  is  this  systemlessness  that  saves  him  as  a 
man  of  letters ;  that  saves  him  from  the  usual  fate 
of  the  systematizing  philosophers.  A  musician 
without  fingers;  a  painter  without  hands;  a  racer 
without  feet  quickly  loses  his  artisitc  skill; 
Emerson  gains  by  his  very  loss.  Though  he  has 
the  mystic  outlook  of  Swedenborg,  he  has  not  his 
illusions :  though  he  has  the  eagle  eye  of  Napoleon, 
he  has  not  his  brutality ;  though  he  has  the  poise 
of  Goethe,  he  has  not  his  frivolity.  He  is  an 
American;  but  a  Yankee  American;  he  is  a 
Puritan;  but  a  19th  century  Puritan;  he  is  a 
Christless  Plato,  but  a  Plato  rolled  out  into  an 
American  Benjamin  Franklin. 

Out  of  this  systemlessness,  out  of  this  frag- 
mentariness  springs  Emerson's  third  characteris- 
tic: his  well-nigh  matchless  economy  of  artistic 
expression.  Emerson  has  indeed,  a  most  nu- 
merous artistic  ancestry,  and  I  have  already  stated 
that  he  is  a  dozen  ancestors  rolled  into  one.  But 
what  he  has  least  of  all  in  him  is  the  Frenchman. 
And  yet,  in  spite  of  this,  his  most  unFrench 
Americanism,  no  one,  in  the  whole  range  of  letters, 
has  more  of  the  economic  French  housewife  in  him 


than  Emerson;  nay,  with  the  sole  exception  of 
Turgenef  no  one  has  perhaps  even  scarcely  as 
much.  No  housewife  can  make  the  leavings  of 
today's  dinner  go  so  far  towards  tomorrow's 
breakfast  as  the  French-woman.  And  so  Emer- 
son knows  how  to  gather  up  even  the  minutest 
filings  of  words  into  most  powerful  magnets  by 
the  sheer  charge  through  them  of  his  own  nervous 
fluid.  Accordingly  in  the  power  of  expression, 
concentrated  expression,  which  indeed  is  alone 
worthy  of  the  name  of  literary  art,  Emerson  stands 


When  at  his  best  he  is  not  content  until  his 
paragraph  has  been  compressed  into  a  period; 
the  period  into  a  sentence;  the  sentence  into  a 
phrase ;  the  phrase  into  an  expression ;  the  expres- 
sion into  a  word;  the  word  into  a  syllable;  the 
syllable  into  a  letter;  the  letter  into  an  apostrophe. 
Emerson  is  not  content  until  he  sees  the  three 
words  "in  spite  of"  reduced  into  the  one  word 
"maugre,"  and  he  rests  not  until  he  cramps  the 
four  letters  of  the  two  words  it  is  by  means  of  the 
apostrophe  into  the  three  letters  of  the  one  word 
'tis.  Critical  folk,  who  are  rather  slow  to  find 
beauties  where  beauties  are,  but  swift  to  find 
blemishes  where  blemishes  are  not,  have  con- 
demned Emerson's  "maugre"  and  "'tis"  as 
affectatious,  as  pedantic.  '  But  for  whate'er  else 
Emerson  may  justly  incur  censure,  for  pedantry 
and  affectation  he  cannot  be  censured.  He  is 
at  times  archaic,  but  not  pedantic;  he  is  sometimes 
stiff,  but  never  affected.  These  concentrated 
expressions  are  as  much  part  of  Emerson  as  his 
matchless  saying,  matchless  in  its  intense  com- 


pression.  "Commit  a  crime,  and  the  world 
is  made  of  glass."  This  passion  for  concentra- 
tion takes  him  at  times  to  the  verge  of  obscurity 
even  for  those  happy  sons  of  Adam  to  whom 
Browning  is  an  ever-open  book.  But  this  because 
he  is  essentially  a  great  literary  artist,  filled  herein 
with  the  spirit  of  Him  that  commandeth  after 
feeding  the  five  thousand  that  the  broken  pieces 
be  gathered  up  lest  aught  be  wasted. 


Emerson  has  come  herein  right  close  to  the 
heart  of  the  great  God  who  numbereth  even  the 
hairs  of  our  head  as  well  as  the  sands  of  the  shore ; 
who  weigheth  the  hills  in  the  balance,  and  the  dust 
in  the  scales.  Emerson  has  herein  come  nigh 
to  the  method  of  him  who  hath  said,  Every  idle 
word  that  men  shall  speak  they  shall  give  account 
thereof  in  the  day  of  judgment,  for  by  thy  words 
thou  shalt  be  justified,  and  by  thy  words  thou 
shalt  be  condemned.  Emerson  is  thus  a  literary 
Economist  of  the  highest  order.  This  has  indeed 
the  disadvantage  of  being  enjoyable,  not  to  say 
acceptable,  only  to  the  few;  but  these  few  are  of 
the  class  of  whom  Aesop's  lioness  spake,  when 
chided  for  bringing  forth  only  one  offspring: 
"One,  but  a— lion." 


Emerson  is  a  match  which  does  not  yield 
its  fire  unless  rubbed;  and  rubbed  not  so  much 
against  the  coarse  sandpaper  as  against  the  smooth 
velvet.  But  the  human  kind  of  these  two  cen- 
turies is  not  given  to  the  slow  process  of  striking 
matches  by  rubbing.  It  prefers  to  get  the  light 
by  pressing  a  button  instead ;  and  Emerson  is  not 


an  easily  touched,  pressible  button,  Emerson 
remains,  as  he  ever  was,  the  infinitely  repelling 

Emerson  is  to  a  thought  what  the  spider 
is  to  its  victim.  As  the  spider  fastens  itself 
upon  the  fly  and  sucks  and  sucks  thereat  until  all 
that  is  left  thereof  is  a  mere  shell,  so  Emerson 
fastens  himself  upon  a  thought  and  presses  and 
squeezes  and  sucks  thereat  until  he  hath  ex- 
hausted it  to  dryness. 

And  thus  we  arrive  at  Emerson's  fourth  charac- 
teristic, his  greatest  characteristic,  that  he  is 
primarily  an  aphorist,  not  only  a  thinker,  but  a 
sayer  of  thoughts,  and  among  these  only  Pascal 
can  be  placed  worthily  by  his  side.  He  had 
indeed  fed  much  on  Montaigne,  and  the  legiti- 
mate successors  of  Montaigne  in  France  are 
Rochefoucault,  La  Bruyere,  Joubert,  Vauvenar- 
gues.  But  giants  though  these  be  in  their  field, 
Emerson  is  among  them  a  Goliath.  Dame  Part- 
ington with  her  broom  sweeping  at  the  Atlantic 
gives  but  a  faint  impression  of  the  difference  in 
power  betwixt  these  and  Emerson.  " Language," 
he  says,  "is  fossil  poetry."  "Give  me  health  and 
a  day,"  he  cries,  "and  I  will  make  the  pomp  of 
emperors  ridiculous."  His  genius  is  most  at  home 
as  a  maker  of  phrases,  and  in  striking  sentences 
like  these  he  is  unsurpassed,  and  in  volume  per- 
haps unapproached.  On  reading  him  you  feel 
as  if  you  had  laid  hold  of  Humbolt's  South  Ameri- 
can eel,  with  consequent  series  of  electric  shocks: 
"Set  a  hedge  here,"  he  says;   "set  oaks  there, 


trees  behind  trees;  above  all,  set  overgreens,  for 
they  will  keep  a  secret  all  the  year  round."  "No 
man  is  fit  for  society  who  has  fine  traits.  At  a 
distance  he  is  admired,  but  bring  him- hand  to 
hand,  he  is  a  cripple."  "We  pray  to  be  conven- 
tional. But  the  wary  heaven  takes  care  you  shall 
not  be  if  there  is  anything  good  in  you.  Dante 
was  very  bad  company,  and  was  never  invited  to 
dinner.  Michael  Angelo  had  a  sad,  sour  time  of 
it."  "We  sit  and  muse  and  are  serene  and  com- 
plete, but  the  moment  we  meet  with  anybody  each 
becomes  a  fraction."  "Society  we  must  have, 
but  let  it  be  society,  and  not  exchanging  news,  or 
eating  from  the  same  dish.  Is  it  society  to  sit 
in  one  of  your  chairs?  I  cannot  go  to  the  house 
of  my  nearest  relatives  because  I  do  not  wish  to 
be  alone."  "I  find  out  in  an  instant  if  my  com- 
panion does  not  want  me,  and  ropes  cannot  hold 
me  when  my  welcome  is  gone."  "Assort  your 
party  or  invite  none.  Put  Stubbs  and  Coleridge, 
Quintilian  and  Aunt  Miriam,  into  pairs  and  you 
make  them  wretched.  'Tis  an  extempore  Sing- 
Sing  built  in  a  parlor.  Leave  them  to  seek  their 
own  mates,  and  they  will  be  merry  as  sparrows." 
"All  conversation  is  a  magnetic  experiment.  I 
know  that  my  friend  can  talk  eloquently;  you 
know  that  he  cannot  articulate  a  sentence:  we 
have  seen  him  in  different  company."  These 
seven  sayings  are  all  from  one  single  essay  out  of 
his  hundred. 

Emerson  is  thus  an  aphorist,  and  an  aphorist 
of  the  highest  order.     I  will  go  further  and  say 
that  in  so  far  that  he  has  literary  life  at  all,  it  is 


because  of  his  aphorisms,,  rather  than  because  of 
the  Emersonism  so  dear  to  his  admirers. 


Emerson  is  false,  and  will  have  to  go  as  all 
falsehood  has  to  go.  But  while  Shakespeare 
without  his  playableness  is  no  more  Shakespeare, 
since  his  dramatic  garb  is  as  inseparable  from  the 
man  as  the  coat  in  the  fable  which  comes  off  only 
with  the  flesh — while  Goethe  without  his  sing- 
ableness  is  no  more  Goethe,  but  a  George  Eliot 
in  speech,  and  grandpa'ish  Novalis  in  thought; 
while  Carlyle  without  his  groan  becomes  a  kind 
of  Benjamin  Franklin  whistle,  Emerson  is  at  his 
best  when  stripped  of  all  his  Emersonism.  He  is 
an  eagle  from  whom  each  master  in  the  various 
fields  of  life  can  pluck  a  feather.  The  meta- 
physician can  show  flaws  in  his  philosophy,  and 
out  comes  the  philosophic  feather.  The  his- 
torian finds  a  hole  in  his  theory  of  history,  and 
out  comes  the  historic  feather.  The  scientist 
has  a  right  lusty  pull  at  his  doctrine  that  a  horse 
is  but  a  running  man,  a  tree  but  a  rooted  man,  and 
out  comes  the  scientific  feather;  lastly  the  Chris- 
tian jerks  most  relentlessly  at  his  whole  theory 
of  life,  and  out  come  wing  feathers,  breast  feathers, 
head  feathers,  and  divers  other  feathers.  And  in 
the  end  we  behold  him  lying  before  us  all  plucked, 
a  plucked  eagle.  But  while  ordinary  eagles  when 
plucked,  are  not  readily  distinguishable  from 
plucked  geese,  it  is  Emerson's  singular  fortune 
that  he  is  then  most  his  literary  self,  when  de- 
prived of  all  that  makes  him  great  in  the  sight  of 
his  disciples.  For  Emerson  is  only  then  truly 
found,  when  he  is  first  wholly  lost. 



After  listening  to  the  ravishing  playing  of 
Paganini  on  his  violin,  Heine  complimented  the 
artist  for  his  marvellous  performance.  "But 
I  pray  you,  tell  me,"  asked  the  disappointed 
violinist,  "how  did  you  like  my  bows  to  the 
audience?"  And  even  of  Napoleon  it  is  reported 
that  he  was  more  concerned  with  the  opinion  folk 
had  of  the  shape  and  tinge  of  his  hands  than  of  the 
art  with  which  he  fought  his  battles.  Some  such 
misrelation  seemed  also  to  exist  between  Emer- 
son's true  art  and  what  he  had  accepted  as  his 
true  vocation  in  life.  For  not  in  fragmentary  dis- 
course alone  was  Emerson  master.  I  have 
already  spoken  of  his  words  at  Manchester  ban- 
quet, that  as  an  orator  even  the  strain  of  De- 
mosthenes is  not  wanting  to  him.  His  letters 
to  Carlyle,  the  narrative  portion  of  his  "English 
Traits"  show  clearly  that  even  in  continuous 
discourse  he  can  be  a  lion  among  beasts,  a  whale 
among  fish,  a  sun  among  planets.  But  Emerson 
has  not  only  renounced  continuous  discourse 
where  he  would  be  a  cloudless  sun,  he  has  breathed 
over  his  aphorisms  vapors  so  foreign  to  them  that 
the  artist  becomes  a  beclouded  moon. 

For  it  is  the  last  and  chief  characteristic  of 
Emerson  that  he  is  not  only  a  protestor  against 
the  falsehoods  of  Christendom,  but  he  is  also  a 
teacher  against  the  truth  of  Christianity,  and 
here  he  has  fared  like  all  those  who  have  gone  be- 
fore him,  be  they  emperor,  be  they  scientist,  be 
they  literary  man.  Not  a  century,  scarcely  a 
decade,  has  indeed  passed  but  a  right  vigorous 



canonade  of  all  manner  of  artillery  has  been 
directed  against  that  Gibraltar  of  the  ages,  the 
cross  of  Christ.  But  the  powder  has  proved  to  be 
only  that  for  firecrackers,  and  the  shot  has  proved 
to  be  only  peas;  and  while  the  glare  has  indeed 
been  at  times  rather  brilliant,  and  the  rattle  rather 
loud,  Gibraltar  still  stands,  and  like  a  granite 
cube,  however  often  overturned,  the  cross  of 
Christ  is  ever  found  right  side  up. 

For  Christianity  has  indeed  enjoined  upon  men 
to  hold  fast  that  which  is  good;  but  it  has  also 
enjoined  upon  men  to  prove  not  some  things, 
but  all  things.  Christianity  has  indeed  enjoined 
upon  men  to  be  filled  with  the  spirit  of  God,  but 
it  hath  also  enjoined  upon  men  to  try  the  spirits 
whether  they  be  of  God.  Christianity  has  indeed 
enjoined  upon  men  to  contend  earnestly  for  the 
faith  once  for  all  delivered  unto  the  saints,  but  it 
has  also  enjoined  upon  men  to  be  ready  to  give 
unto  every  one  that  asketh  a  reason  for  the  faith 
that  is  in  them.  Christianity  does  indeed  com- 
mand the  disciple  to  walk  in  the  full  assurance 
of  the  blessed  hope,  but  it  also  commands 
the  disciple  to  examine  himself  whether  he  be  in 
the  faith.  Christianity  is  thus  a  scientific  re- 
ligion, with  constant  exhortation  to  apply  thereto 
the  scientific  methods,  with  constant  appeal  to 
the  law  of  evidence,  upon  which  modern  science 
professeth  so  much  to  repose. 


But  while  Christianity  is  thus  scientific,  and 
never  asks  man  to  accept  aught  but  what  can  be 
proved,  Christendom  has  adopted  a  method  far 
other  than  scientific.     As  it  holdeth  no  longer  fast 


to  that  which  is  good,  it  can  no  more  prove  all 
things  whether  they  be  good.  As  it  is  no  longer 
filled  with  the  Spirit  of  God,  it  can  no  longer 
try  the  spirits  whether  they  be  of  God.  As  it 
contends  no  longer  earnestly  for  the  faith  once 
for  all  delivered  unto  the  saints,  it  can  give  no 
longer  a  reason  to  every  one  that  asketh  for  the 
faith  that  is  therein.  As  it  no  longer  walks  in 
the  assurance  of  the  blessed  hope  of  the  return  of 
the  absent  Lord,  it  can  no  longer  examine  itself 
whether  it  be  in  the  faith.  Christendom  has 
thus  substituted  the  traditions  of  men  for  the 
word  of  God;  authority  for  experience;  conformity 
for  conviction.  And  against  this  unscientific, 
unchristian  method  of  Christendom  it  is  that 
Emerson  felt  called  upon  to  enter  his  protest  with 
the  strength  of  a  Samson,  with  the  voice  of  a  Stentor. 

And  had  Emerson  been  content  to  pause 
here,  my  task  would  here  be  done.  But  Emerson 
has  not  been  content  to  pause  here.  The  true 
protestor  became  a  false  teacher;  to  a  false  auth- 
ority he  opposes  an  equally  false  self-reliance. 
And  this  non-conformity,  this  self-reliance  forms 
accordingly  the  warp  and  woof  of  Emerson's 
being.  It  is  the  burden  of  his  song,  the  strain 
of  his  various  themes.. 

The  key  note  to  Emerson's  message  unto  man 
is  Self -Reliance.  Look  only  to  thyself,  for  thou 
art  God.  This  doctrine  of  Self-Reliance  is  not 
so  very  new,  as  his  worshippers  would  fain  make 
men  believe.  It  was  in  nowise  born  with  Emer- 
son; was  old  already  some  centuries  before  him. 


Francis  Bacon — who  had  openly  confessed  as  his 
Lord  the  same  Christ  whom  Emerson  patronizes 
as  a  merely  misunderstood  fellow-seer  in  the  realm 
of  Self -Reliance — -had  already  talked  in  a  similar 
strain.  The  stoics  had  already  said  this  much, 
even  before  Bacon,  and  a  certain  Babylonian 
King,  Nebuchadnezzar  by  name,  had  even  become 
quite  exalted  in  his  own  sight  as  an  ample  piece 
of  Self -Reliance.  And  long  before  even  Neb- 
uchadnezzar, a  certain  dame,  Miriam  by  name, 
had  been  a  rather  eloquential  exponent  of  Emer- 
sonian doctrine;  "Hath  the  Lord  spoken  to  Moses 
only  V '  Nay,  if  we  go  to  the  bottom  of  the  matter, 
we  find  the  enunciation  of  Emerson's  doctrine  of 
Self -Reliance  as  far  back  as  in  Paradise  itself: 
"If  ye,  O  Adam  and  Eve,  only  disobey  God — ye 
shall  be  yourselves  as  God!" 

But  who  shall  say  that  it  was  not  this  tampering 
with  the  truth  of  Christ  that  made  the  otherwise 
pious  Bacon  a  corrupt  judge?  Nebuchadnezzar 
had  to  eat  grass  like  an  ox  ere  he  could  be  healed 
of  his  delusion;  and  Miriam  had  to  become  a 
leper  ere  she  could  be  healed  of  hers.  And  in 
paradise  our  parents  became  indeed  like  Gods, 
but  with  the  rather  sad  result  of  making  Emerson 
indispensable  henceforth  to  all  who  like  him  be- 
come self -uplifted  Gods 


As  the  whole  law  and  the  prophets  hang 
upon  the  two  commandments  Thou  shalt  love  the 
Lord  thy  God  with  all  thy  heart,  and  all  thy 
soul,    and   all   thy  mind,    and   all   thy  strength, 


and,  Thou  shalt  love  thy  neighbor  as  thyself, 
so  the  whole  dozen  volumes  of  Emerson  re- 
volve round  these  two  foci;  Conform  to  none, 
on  the  one  hand — to  none,  not  even  to  Christ; 
trust  thyself,  on  the  other,  whosoever  thou  art, 
if  even  a  gosling,  since  thou  too,  0  man,  art 
God.  And  this,  his  anti-christian  teaching  at 
once  suffuses  a  glow  of  consistency  through 
every  page  of  this  master  of  inconsistency.  The 
philosopher  quarrels  with  Emerson  for  his  in- 
consistency; the  scientist  quarrels  with  him  for  his 
oracular  positiveness,  his  orphicity.  But  having 
along  with  Christendom  rejected  Christianity, 
having  with  the  water  of  the  bath  thrown  away 
also  the  child  it  contained;  having  thus  cut 
himself  off  from  what  alone  makes  life  consist- 
ent; from  what  alone  brings  order  into  chaos, 
even  the  cross  of  Christ,  Emerson  could  become 
consistent  only  as  a  apostle  of  inconsistency.  But 
he  is  inconsistent  solely  because  having  espied 
the  true  evil,  he  offers  the  false  remedy.  In  like 
manner  he  is  oracular  because  having  once  re- 
jected the  Christ  who  is  alone  The  Truth,  it  was 
part  of  true  wisdom  not  to  pause  midway,  but 
to  go  to  the  end;  and  to  oppose  to  every  Thus  Saith 
the  Lord,  an  equally  positive  Thus  Saith  Emerson- 
ian Ralph  Waldo. 


In  his  singularly  inadequate  paper  on  Emerson, 
Matthew  Arnold  complains  of  him,  that  though 
he  belongs  to  those  who  are  helpers  in  the  Spirit, 
he  must  deny  him  a  place  among  the  great  writers, 
because  he  lacks  texture ;  because  he  lacks  uniform 
greatness   of  style.     And  it  must   be   confessed 


that  the  charge,  as  thus  stated,  is  just  enough. 
Abounding  as  he  is  in  noble  paragraphs  and  brave 
sentences,  Emerson  does  indeed  lack  uniform 
texture.  He  abounds  in  pages  that  are  half  true, 
quarter-true,  not  at  all  true.  He  abounds  in 
pages  of  which  the  sense  cannot  be  got  through  the 
grammar,  the  meaning  hardly  even  through  the 
dictionary.  So  that  logical  head  of  New  England 
Bar  can  only  exclaim  with  right  royal  disdain:"/ 
don't  read  Emerson,  my  girls  do."  Requested 
once  to  explain  a  passage,  he  frankly  owns  that 
he  must  have  known  its  meaning  once,  but  in 
nowise  now.  But  surely,  Matthew  Arnold,  who 
could  deal  so  justly  with  Joubert,  would  not  thus 
have  been  misled  by  Emerson's  style  had  he  once 
understood  that  the  literary  Emerson  is  not  to 
be  judged  as  a  writer  of  continuous  discourse,  but 
rather  the  man  Emerson,  the  enemy  of  the  Cross ; 
that  the  literary  Emerson  was  a  writer  of  de- 
tached thoughts,  a  gigantic  Joubert,  just  as  Jupiter 
though  like  the  earth  only  a  planet,  is  still  a 
gigantic  earth.  But  as  mere  aphorist  Emerson 
could  not  overthrow  the  cross  of  Christ  by  hurling 
epigrams  against  it,  just  as  the  Capitol  at  Wash- 
ington cannot  be  exploded  by  a  mere  bundle  of 
matches.  Of  dynamite  for  granite  palace  there 
is  indeed  abundance  enough,  but  dynamite  for 
exploding  the  Cross,  there  is  none  to  be  had  in  the 
market  at  any  quotation.  Accordingly  in  de- 
fault of  dynamite,  Emerson  has  to  take  to  rags 
wherewith  to  feed  the  fire  of  his  beautiful  matches. 
Rags,  however,  instead  of  burning  themselves, 
put  out  the  matches  instead,  with  net  result  of 
a  logical  Judge  vociferating  "I  don't  read  Emerson, 
my  girls  do!" 


28.  ' 

For  by  a  grim  kind  of  divine  irony,  this  anti- 
christianity  of  Emerson  becomes  a  veritable 
Waterloo  to  that  marvellous  literary  art  of  his. 
As  Walter  Scott  met  his  Waterloo  in  his  Life  of 
Napoleon;  as  Matthew  Arnold  has  met  his 
Waterloo  in  his  essays  on  Emerson  and  Shelley,  so 
Emerson  himself  has  met  his  Waterloo  in  his 
doctrine  of  Self -Reliance.  For  his  false  system  of 
Self-Reliance  must  be  supported  by  the  still 
falser  doctrine  that  man  is  God.  And  the 
theory  that  man  is  God  must  be  upheld  even 
though  the  right  lovely  babes  of  aphorisms 
have  to  be  suffocated  under  a  heap  of  phil- 
osophic verbiage.  To  give  plausibility  to  the 
theory,  the  picture  must  be  given  a  frame; 
the  jewel  must  be  given  a  casket;  the  casket 
crushes  the  jewel,  the  setting  shears  the  gem  of  its 
beams.  The  numerous  discourses  in  which  Emer- 
son's precious  sentences  are  well-nigh  hopelessly 
entombed  form  a  kind  of  Barbarossa  armor  to 
them:  instead  of  protecting,  they  drag  down. 
The  very  setting  in  which  his  gems  are  encased, 
that  which  is  most  trusted  to  float  his  treasure, 
sinks  them;  the  setting  to  his  maxims  has  proved 
a  life  preserver  wrongly  put  on.  Instead  of  keep- 
ing the  head  out  of  the  water,  it  sends  up  the 
feet  instead.  Emerson's  literary  art  is  thus  a 
child  in  the  hands  of  a  tender  but  incompetent 
nurse;  suffocated  by  its  very  wrappage.  And  the 
treatment  Christianity  received  at  the  hands  of 
Emerson  is  likely  to  be  his  own  at  the  hands  of  his 
future  readers:  the  child  is  like  to  be  thrown 
away  with  the  water  in  which  it  was  bathed. 



This  it  is  that  poor  Matthew  Arnold  is  so 
hopelessly  struggling  to  put  into  speech  about 
Emerson.  He  had  rummaged  through  all  the 
pigeon-holes  of  literature  and  found  no  place  for 
Emerson,  just,  as  Noah's  dove  finds  no  place  for 
the  sole  of  her  feet.  He  goes  among  the  poets  and 
finds  no  place  for  Emerson  here.  He  goes  among 
the  philosophers,  and  finds  no  room  for  him  there. 
He  goes  among  the  great  writers,  and  lo!  here 
also,  he  cannot  stow  away  this  elephant  of  a  Ralph 
Waldo.  In  despair  he  at  last  patches  him  on  to 
the  imperial  purple  of  Rome;  coupling  thus  the 
steam-engine  to  the  truckman's  dray-beast.  Mat- 
thew Arnold,  not  beholding  in  Emerson  the 
matchless  aphorist  could  only  fumble  about  with 
his  criticism,  but  his  instinct  was  wiser  than  his 
canon,  and  his  condemnation  of  Emerson's  tex- 
ture, however  ill-motived,  was  nevertheless  abid- 
ingly just. 

But  however  right  Arnold  be  in  the  condem- 
nation of  Emerson's  style,  the  vice  lies  not  in  his 
maxims,  nor  in  his  aphorisms  but  solely  in  his 
consecutive  discourse  in  the  clothing  of  his  maxims 
in  the  wrappage  of  his  aphorisms.  When,  for 
example,  he  says:  "This  life  of  ours  is  stuck  round 
with  Egypt,  Greece,  Gaul,  England,  War,  Coloni- 
zation, Church,  Court,  Commerce,  as  with 
so  many  flowers  and  wild  ornaments  grave  and 
gay,"  he  utters  not  only  a  profound  saying,  an 
admirable  thought;  he  utters  even  a  painted 
image,  feasting  the  soul  not  only  with  a  truth, 


but  with  a  picturesque  truth:  offering  not  only  a 
thought  to  the  mind,  but  a  bouquet  to  the 
imagination.  But  apart  from  even  this  sentence 
suffering  somewhat  from  more  than  needless 
share  of  evening  trail  to  the  reception  gown,  he 
introduces  this  otherwise  admirable  sentence  with 
the  remark  that  time  dissipates  into  shining  ether 
the  solid  angularities  of  facts.  Well,  a  fact  that 
has  angles  and  solid  angles  suggests  a  table; 
and  while  it  is  indeed  rather  difficult  to  behold 
a  table  dissipated,  and  dissipated  into  ether, 
and  into  shining  ether,  and  all  this  done  by  time — 
yet  the  love  which  covereth  all  things  could  well 
cover  this  also,  all  the  more  so  in  Ralph  Waldo 
Emerson.  But  he  follows  his  saying  about  this 
life  of  ours  being  stuck  round,  with  these  words: 
"I  will  not  make  more  account  of  them:  (Egypt, 
Greece,  Gaul,  etc).  I  believe  in  eternity.  I 
can  find  Greece,  Palestine,  Italy,  Spain,  and  the 
Islands —  the  genius  and  creative  principle  of  each 
in  my  own  mind;"  and  forthwith  he  opens  the 
Pandora  box  for  all  manner  of  legitimate  off- 
spring of  such  Self -Reliance :  forthwith  he  opens 
the  Pandora  box  for  the  American  youth  in  the 
village  crying  to  Elisha:  "Go  up,  go  up,  thou  bald- 
head;"  he  opens  the  Pandora  box  for  the  anar- 
chist in  the  city/  who  objects  to  the  comb  and 
brush  of  the  law  as  well  as  to  the  comb  and  the 
brush  of  the  hair;  he  opens  the  Pandora  box 
for  that  godless  self-sufficiency  upon  which  the 
sacred  writer  passes  such  terrible  sentence 
with  the  words:  In  those  days  there  was  no 
King  in  Israel;  every  one  did  what  was  right 
in  his  own  eyes." 



And  as  in  his  essay  on  Self-Reliance  he  lays 
the  foundation  for  Anarchy,  so  in  his  essay  on 
Compensation,  he  lays  foundation  for  that  Chris- 
tian Science  which  is  neither  Christian  nor  scien- 
tific, just  as  the  numerous  New  England  straw- 
berry hills  are  distinguished  chiefly  for  having  no 
strawberries  and  for  being  no  hills.  "Existence," 
he  says,  "or  God,  is  not  a  relation  or  a  part  but  the 
whole.  Being" — and  here  for  once  the  shrewd 
Ralph  Waldo  Emerson  fails  to  escape  the  hereness 
of  the  there,  and  the  thereness  of  the  here; 
the  isingness  of  being  and  beingness  of  ising — 
"Being"  he  says,  "is  the  vast  affirmative,  ex- 
cluding negation,  self-balanced,  and  swallowing 
up  all  relations,  parts  and  times,  within  itself. 
Nature,  truth  virtue,  are  the  influx  from  thence. 
Vice  is  the  absence  of  departure  of  the  same. 
Nothing,  Falsehood,  may  indeed  stand  as  the  great 
night  or  shade  on  which  as  a  background  the 
living  universe  paints  itself  forth;  but  no  fact 
is  begotten  by  it ;  it  cannot  work,  for  it  is  not.  It 
cannot  work  any  good,  it  cannot  work  any 
harm."  On  which  unintelligible  passage  the  only 
intelligible  commentary  is  that  heroic  treatment 
which  requires  the  patient  to  sit  in  silence  at 
one  dollar  an  hour,  and  to  meditate  on  the  un- 
reality of  toothache  at  $10.00  a  course. 

And  hardly  an  essay  of  his  but  contains  some 
such  winged  insect  with  the  head  indeed  of  harm- 
less locust,  but  with  the  sting  in  its  tail,  with  ulti- 
mate torment  to  those  that  come  nigh  them,  with 
ultimate  destruction  to  those  that  flee  not  from 


Emerson  was  an  optimist,  and  much  of  his 
power  over  men  he  owes  to  this  optimism  of  his ; 
to  this  cube-like  unupsettiblity  of  his  at  the  sight 
of  the  ills  of  men.  But  his  was  a  most  eupeptic 
digestive  apparatus;  the  aches  of  the  heart,  the 
sorrows  of  the  soul,  the  pains  of  the  flesh — 
he  knew  them  not.  Friends  had  not  forsaken 
him,  malice  had  not  o'ertaken  him.  It  is  easy 
to  be  an  optimist  when  one  floats  in  the  rotundity 
of  his  own  fat,  when  oysters  give  not  the  colic, 
and  mince  pie  gives  not  the  nightmare.  But  the 
universe  takes  on  far  other  appearance  to  man 
when  the  extra  ounce  of  bread  lies  upon  his  breast 
as  a  Kosmos  upon  the  shoulders  of  Atlas;  when 
a  lone  cup  of  tea  at  eventide  lengthens  out 
the  wakeful  night  into  another  day.  To  be 
an  optimist  then,  it  is  no  longer  Emersonian 
self-reliance  that  suffices  here,  but  wholly  un- 
Emersonian.  God-reliance. 

Thus  it  comes  to  pass  that  Emerson  to  do 
battle  with  Christianity  was  obliged  to  furnish 
his  shafts  with  a  beam;  but  the  clumsiness  of  the 
beam  deflects  the  shaft  downward,  instead  of  for- 
ward, and  the  weapon  turned  out  of  its  way  at 
last  falls  ignominiously  to  the  ground,  piercing 
nothing  but  the  sand. 

The  great  vice  of  Emerson's  teaching  then, 
his  Self-Reliance  on  the  one  hand,  and  his 
divinity  of  man  on  the  other.  But  the  human 
heart  is  right  prone  to  listen  to  this  siren  song  of 
the  native  divinity  of  man. 



The  small  man  makes  a  God  out  of  only  one 
man — himself ;  the  great  man  makes  all  men  God : 
the  one  is  the  small  heathen,  the  other  is  the  great 
pagan.  Now  Emerson  sails  out  as  the  great 
pagan,  but  lands  (and  this  in  spite  of  himself) 
with  the  small  heathen:  self -uplifted,  self-cen- 
tered. That  he  does  not  sink  with  Whitman  to 
the  self -occupied  he  owes  not  to  his  philosophy,  but 
to  the  seven  generations  of  the  blood  of  the  Lamb 
flowing  in  his  veins.  Man  is  not  God,  not 
even  a  god:  he  is  a  worm,  and  worse  than  a 
worm ;  the  worm  made  to  crawl  has  never  attempt- 
ed to  strut;  man  being  given  eyes  wherewith 
to  see  God  above  him,  puts  them  out;  and  then 
professes  to  see  Him  even  while  only  groping 
after  Him.  The  worm  has  never  rebelled  against 
God,  man  has.  In  a  world  without  a  Christ 
Emerson  is  a  magnificent  ladder;  takes  straight 
up  to  the  peak,  only  to  find  it  ice-clad.  And  if 
perchance  the  benumbed  mountaineer  bestirs 
himself,  and  attempts  to  return,  lo,  the  rungs  have 
disappeared;  and  what  is  left  is  an  icy  peak,  two 
parrallel  poles,  and  a  benumbed  man  .  .  .  And  that 
the  benumbed  man,  perishing  thus  on  the  peak, 
is  at  last  rescued  is  due  solely  to  another  ladder, 
a  Jacob's  ladder,  upon  which  angels  descend  and 
ascend.  For  the  Son  of  Man  came  to  seek 
and  to  save  that  which  is  lost,  lost  even  on  Emer- 
sonian peaks. 

I    need   not   know   how   kind-hearted   a  man 
Emerson  was:  seven  generations  of  honest  gospel 
blood  cannot  be  drawn  off  all  at  once  even  in 


transcendental  pails,  and  his  heart  was  wiser  than 
the  philosophic  infinitely  repelling  particle  of  his 
own  description.  Men  are  always  better  than 
their  creed,  though  seldom  as  good  as  their 
religion.  But  loving  though  Emerson  surely  was, 
Emersonism  has  not  been  loving,  any  more  than 
Stoicism  is  loving,  any  more  than  any  self- 
sufficiency  can  be  loving;  and — Who  loveth  not 
abideth  in  death.  Singularly  barren  has  been 
Emerson's  teaching.  Where  Tolstoy  is  an  ox, 
with  narrow  range,  but  patiently  serving;  where 
Arnold  is  a  swan,  with  equally  limited  range, 
but  gracefully  floating;  where  Ruskin  is  a  lion, 
ranging  wide,  and  Carlyle  is  a  whale,  diving  deep, 
Emerson  is  an  eagle,  soaring  high.  But  beside 
the  thrashing  whalishness  of  Carlyle  Emerson 
is  a  gentle  dove.  Yet  whalish  Carlyle  leaves 
behind  him  a  Ruskin  and  Froude,  the  gentle 
Emerson  leaves  behind  him  a  handful  of  teles- 
copic moons  —  eclipsed.  The  transcendental 
movement — who  is  not  reminded  here  of  those 
western  roads  which  begin  so  magnificently  as 
boulevards,  and  end  a  few  miles  off  as  squirrel 
tracks?  It  has  even  had  its  historian,  but  like 
Roman  civilization  it  was  decayed  before  it  was 
ripe,  and  it  has  all  been  carted  off  into  a  kind  of 
ignominious  valley  of  Hinnom;  movement,  asso- 
ciation, satellites,  historian,  and  all. 

All  that  is  left  of  the  commotion  is  Emerson 
himself,  a  lone  eagle  on  the  bare  crag.  He 
had  hatched  what  were  to  be  eaglets;  and  they 
only  proved  ducklings,  which  took  to  the  water 
at  the  first  opportunity,  and  there  he  is  alone   .    . 


And  yet  but  for  the  divine  veto,  thou  didst  deserve 
better  things,  thou  and  thy  satellites,  O  Ralph 
Waldo!  for  among  them  were  of  the  salt  of  the 
earth ;  if  only  they  had  been  boiled  out  from  sea 
water  into  the  rock  salt. 

With  all  his  whalishness  Carlyle  was  a  hungry, 
and  therefore  loving  heart.  Emerson  could  not 
have  written  Past  and  Present,  Fors  Clavigera, 
What  to  Do.  Past  and  Present  is  not  Carlyle, 
it  is  the  cry  of  the  human  heart  through  Carlyle. 
Fors  Clavigera  is  not  Ruskin,  it  is  the  woe  of 
the  human  heart  through  Ruskin.  What  to  Do 
is  not  Tolstoy,  it  is  the  protest  of  the  human 
heart  through  Tolstoy.  But  the  cry,  the  woe, 
the  protest,  Emerson  did  not  utter,  could  not 
utter,  because  the  woe  was  not  in  him  at  all,  the 
protest  got  no  farther  than  his  head,  the  cry  went 
not  beyond  his  chamber.  Emerson's  home  was 
on  Mount  Olympus,  but  from  that  mount  Zeus 
came  down  only  to  seek  a  concubine ;  from  another 
mount  comes  down  another  God  to  go  to  the  cross 
for  those  who  spit  in  his  face.  This  is  Love, 
and  love  is  a  gift  directly  from  above,  whereas 
even  genius  may  be  loaned  from  beneath. 
A  man  can  indeed  receive  nothing  except  it 
be  given  him  from  above.  But  "To  thee  will  I 
give  all  this  authority  and  the  glory  of  them, 
for  it  hath  been  delivered  unto  me,  and  unto  whom- 
soever I  will  I  give  it."  Love  and  Truth  alone 
have  not  been  delivered  unto  Satan  to  give  unto 
men,  for  a  liar  is  he,  and  a  murderer  from  the 
beginning.  And  that  priceless  gift  of  love  is 
withholden    above    all    from    the    self-sufficient. 


Man  is  sick,  and  a  wise  physician  has  been  sent 
unto  him,  but  they  that  are  whole  need  him 
not.  Carlyle,  Ruskin,  and  Tolstoy  were  given 
that  love,  because  they  had  not  barricaded  them- 
selves with  a  philosophy  of  Self -Reliance.  Long- 
suffering  and  patient  is  our  God  with  the  sons  of 
men.  Seeing  that  they  are  but  flesh,  his  Spirit 
doth  not  strive  with  them  for  aye;  and  he  wit- 
nesseth  the  spitting  upon  even  his  well-beloved 
son,  without  hurling  down  instant  wrath.  But  the 
one  thing  he  will  not  pass  over  is  the  sight  of 
a  worm  of  a  man  shaking  as  it  were  his  red  cloth 
in  the  face  of  heaven,  and  shouting  from  on  tip- 
toe, I  too  am  God!  Isaiah,  on  the  eve  of  his 
embassage  for  King  of  kings,  and  Lord  of  lords, 
is  permitted  a  glimpse  of  the  glory  of  God; 
forthwith  he  cries:  "Woe  is  me,  I  am  undone,  for 
I  am  a  man  of  unclean  lips,  and  dwell  in  the  midst 
of  an  unclean  people.  ■ '  And  thou,  0  Ralph  Waldo 
art — really  God?  Job,  of  whom  it  is  witnessed 
by  the  Spirit  that  he  was  perfect,  has  too,  like 
Emerson,  an  experience,  but  only  to  cry  out  at 
the  end  thereof:  "I  have  heard  of  thee  with  the 
hearing  of  mine  ear;  but  now  that  mine  eye  seeth 
thee,  I  am  vile  and  repent  in  dust  and  ashes." 
And  thou,  O  Ralph  Waldo,  art  really — God? 
Daniel,  the  well-beloved  in  heaven,  no  sooner 
doth  he  ope  his  mouth  in  prayer,  than  forthwith 
is  Gabriel  caused  to  fly  swiftly  to  bring  cheer  to 
his  troubled  heart.  The  prayer  of  a  righteous 
man  availeth  much  in  its  working.  But  this 
Daniel,  at  whose  prayers  the  very  angels  have  to 
fly,  humbleth  himself  before  his  God  for  one  and 
twenty  days;  and  the  burden  of  this  faultless 
Daniel    is:     0     Lord,     righteousness     belongeth 


unto  thee,  but  unto  us  confusion  of  face."  And 
thou,  O  Ralph  Waldo,  art  really — God?  Lastly, 
the  well-beloved  Son  himself,  when  as  mere  man 
he  is  addressed  as  Good  Master,  giveth  answer: 
"Call  no  man  good:  One  is  good,  God."  And 
thou,  O  Ralph  Waldo,  art  verily  Go(o)d?  Not 
so;  far  other  is  the  language  of  the  truly  godly 
soul:  "I  am  poor  and  needy,  I  am  a  worm,  and 
not  a  man."  The  soul  that  spake  thus  had 
tasted  God,  and  shall  we,  wormlings  that  we  are, 
speak  otherwise  in  the  presence  of  God? 


Channing's  Dignity  of  Man  has  in  Emerson 
become  the  Divinity  of  Man,  and  with  all  such 
the  Lord  God,  who  is  a  jealous  God,  hath  a 
stern  controversy.  And  instant  was  his  judg- 
ment. Thou  shalt  have  the  gift  of  Midas,  and 
whatsoever  thou  touchest  shall  turn  into  gold, 
but  bread  O,  Ralph  Waldo,  it  shall  in  nowise 


And  out  of  his  own  mouth  was  he  judged,  this 
son  of  earth.  In  a  deeper  sense  than  meant  by 
himself  he  was  to  remain  for  aye  and  infinitely 
repelling  particle.  The  pagan  imagination  could 
devise  no  severer  affliction  than  Prometheus  at 
his  rock  and  Sisyphus  with  his  stone.  Emerson, 
falling  into  the  hands  of  Christian's  God, 
was  graciously  allowed  only  to  journey  in  a 
parabolic  curve;  ever  approaching  God,  never 
reaching  him. 



By  the  banks  of  the  River  Nyeman,  which 
divides  Russia  from  Germany,  man  stands 
forth  like  an  imperial  eagle;  the  body  is  indeed 
single,  but  the  head  is  double;  and  of  these  two 
heads  one  is  turned  toward  the  West  whither 
hath  been  flowing  for  ages  the  sinking  wisdom  of 
the  past;  the  other  is  turned  toward  the  East, 
whither  is  bound  to  flow  the  rising  wisdom  of 
the  future.  Accordingly,  where  Germany  hath 
hitherto  travelled  to  England,  and  Italy  to 
France,  and  these  in  their  turn  across  the  Atlantic, 
Russia  has  turned  Eastward,  to  Asia;  not  to 
pause  in  its  journey  onward  until  it  hath  met 
once  more  the  parted  stream  across  the  Pacific. 
The  River  Nyeman  is  thus  a  kind  of  modern 
Peleg,  of  whom  we  are  told  that  in  his  days  was 
the  earth  divided;  and  at  the  extreme  ends  of 
modern  civilization  thus  stand  its  two  youngest 
political  powers :  Russia  at  the  one  end,  America 
at  the  other;  the  one  a  head  without  a  body;  the 
other  a  body  without  a  head;  where  the  one 
is  a  head  of  gold  with  feet  of  clay,  the  other 
is  feet  of  gold  with  head  of  clay.  Russia  is  thus 
the  strongest  type  of  autocracy,  America  the 
strongest  type  of  democracy;  and  the  two 
countries  are  thus  each  at  the  end  of  the  one 
chain  of  mankind;  but  while  America  began  in 
the    spirit    and    ended   in   the    flesh — while    the 



flower  of  American  civilization  which  began  in 
the  ever  God-acknowledging  puritanism,  is  self- 
reliant,  man-uplifted,  Christ-denying  Ralph 
Waldo  Emerson — Russia,  which  began  in  the 
flesh,  is  like  to  end  in  the  spirit,  and  the  flower 
of  its  civilization,  which  begins  with  the  heaven- 
defying  French  encyclopaedists,  ends  in  Leo 
Tolstoy,  who,  while  beginning  indeed  likewise  with 
dethroning  the  Father,  ends  with  something  only 
short  of  abasing  himself  before  the  Son. 


Emerson  and  Tolstoy  are  thus  the  two  extreme 
peaks  in  the  mountain-chain  of  mankind,  while 
between  them  rise  as  connecting  range,  Carlyle, 
Ruskin,  and  Arnold;  and  as  such  peaks  they 
overlook  not  only  America  and  Russia,  but  also 
whatsoever  lieth  between.  Just  as  Emerson  is 
more  than  an  American,  so  is  Tolstoy  more  than 
a  Russian.  Carlyle  indeed  is  also  not  wholly 
British;  Ruskin  indeed  is  also  not  wholly  English; 
and  Arnold  indeed  is  also  not  wholly  insular. 
Carlyle  besides  being  a  Britisher,  has  indeed 
much  of  the  German  in  him;  Ruskin  besides 
being  an  Englishman,  has  indeed  much  of  the 
Italian  in  him;  and  Arnold  besides  being  an 
islander,  has  indeed  much  of  the  Frenchman  in 
him.  But  from  the  Germans  Carlyle  has  taken 
chiefly  only  his  elephantine  clumsiness,  his 
sauerkraut  heaviness;  from  the  Frenchman 
Arnold  has  taken  mostly  only  the  brilliant 
sparkle  of  his  wine;  while  from  the  Italian 
Ruskin  takes  often  indeed  his  sunniness,  but  he 
takes  also  along  with  it  the  fine  hand  of  the 
Italian  with  the  Italian's  cold  steel  therein. 
None  of  these,  however,  are  yet  wholly  cosmo- 


politan.  Emerson  and  Tolstoy,  are  alone  of  the 
five  men  before  us  truly  cosmopolitan;  and  as 
Emerson  is  the  fruit  not  only  of  many  climes 
but  also  of  many  ages,  so  is  Tolstoy  the  voice 
not  only  of  many  lands  but  also  of  many  cen- 
turies. But  while  the  chief  characteristic  of  the 
most  cosmopolitan  of  Americans  is  that  he  is 
Yankee  of  Yankees,  it  is  the  chief  characteristic 
of  this  most  Russian  of  Russians  that  he  is  most 
cosmopolitan  of  cosmopolitans. 


For  the  first  characteristic  of  the  Russian  is: 
that  where  the  German  is  first  of  all  a  German 
man,  and  the  Englishman  an  English  man; 
where  the  Frenchman  is  first  of  all  a  French  man, 
and  the  American  an  American  man;  where, 
with  these,  in  short,  geography  is  first  and  man- 
kind last,  and  duties  are  determined  more  by 
the  map  than  by  the  commandment  of  God,  the 
Russian  is  first  of  all  a  man,  and  a  Russian  only 
afterwards;  with  him  mankind  is  first  and 
geography  last;  his  text-book  of  duties  is  made 
up  more  of  equity  and  rectitude,  than  from  longi- 
tude and  latitude.  Hence  Russia,  though  it  hath 
indeed  a  right  rich  literature,  hath  as  yet  no 
national  literature ;  though  it  hath  a  right  trans- 
latable literature,  it  hath  as  yet  no  original 
literature.  Hence,  where  an  Englishman  learns 
a  foreign  tongue  chiefly  in  order  the  better  to 
travel;  where  a  German  studies  a  foreign  tongue 
chiefly  in  order  the  better  to  understand  com- 
parative grammar;  where  an  American  learns  a 
foreign  tongue,  if  not  indeed  always  the  better 
to  sell  his  locomotives  and  pills,  at  least  the  better 


to  translate  the  latest  foreign  sensation;  the 
Russian — such  is  his  native  sympathy  with  man 
that  the  acquisition  of  foreign  tongues  is  to  him 
almost  a  kind  of  natural  gift.  Where  the  feud 
betwixt  Englishman  and  Irishman  has  been 
carried  on  for  decades;  where  the  bitterness 
betwixt  German  and  Frenchman  has  been 
fomented  for  centuries;  the  Russian,  even  though 
he  has  warred  for  years  against  the  Pole,  the 
Swede,  or  the  Tartar,  has  no  ill-will  toward  these. 
Whatever  sorrows  the  numerous  foreign  nation- 
alities had  to  endure  on  Russian  soil  have  ever 
been  due  to  the  hands  of  the  government,  never 
to  the  hearts  of  the  people.  Accordingly,  where 
in  Germany  and  France  the  Jew  is  despised 
because  of  his  race;  where  in  America  the  negro 
is  shunned  because  of  his  color,  and  the  Irishman 
is  patronized  only  because  of  his  vote ;  in  Russia 
the  only  one  that  reminds  Alexander  Pushkin 
of  his  negro  blood  is  the  poet  himself;  and  the 
only  man  that  reminds  Obrutshef  of  his  Irish 
descent  is  the  general  himself;  and  if,  perchance, 
the  Russian  takes  at  last  to  the  mobbing  of  the 
Jews,  it  is  not  as  in  Europe  because  of  their  race; 
it  is  rather  because  he  is  incited  thereto  by  their 
usury-bled  victims  on  the  one  hand,  and  by 
priestly  or  revolutionary  zealots  on  the  other. 
Accordingly,  where  the  Frenchman  studies  the 
religion  of  Christ  to  find  therein  a  basis  for  a  new 
system  of  society;  where  the  German  studies 
the  religion  of  Christ  to  find  therein  a  basis  for 
a  new  system  of  metaphysics ;  where  the  English- 
man studies  the  religion  of  Christ  to  find  therein 
the  basis  for  a  new  system  of  theology;  lastly, 
where  the  American  studies  the  religion  of  Christ 


to  find  therein  the  basis  for  a  new  denomination; 
Tolstoy,  the  Russian,  studies  the  religion  of  Christ 
first  of  all  to  find  therein  a  basis  on  which  to  live 
the  better  himself,  from  which  the  better  to  help 
his  fellow  man.  Accordingly,  where  Emerson's 
remedy  for  the  ills  of  men  is  self-reliance ;  where 
Carlyle's  remedy  for  the  ills  of  men  is  occupation 
in  self-drowning  work;  where  Arnold's  remedy 
for  the  ills  of  men  is  culture;  where  Ruskin's 
remedy  for  the  ills  of  men  is  reorganization  of  the 
machinery  of  life — all  these,  however,  providing 
no  further  than  for  the  comfort  of  self;  Tolstoy's 
remedy  for  the  ills  of  men  is  not  that  which  hath 
its  centre  in  self,  but  rather  that  love  of  his  kind, 
which  ever  hath  its  centre  in  aught  beyond  self. 

And  as  Tolstoy's  first  characteristic  is  thus  his 
Russian  universality,  so  his  second  characteristic 
is  no  less  Russian.  For  Tolstoy's  is  that  Russian 
intensity,  which  as  it  fears  nothing,  also  yields  to 
nothing,  and  likewise  shrinks  from  nothing;  for 
the  Russian  is  nothing  if  not  intense.  When  he 
loves,  he  loves  with  all  his  heart;  when  he  adores, 
he  adores  with  all  his  soul;  when  he  submits, 
he  submits  with  all  his  being;  when  he  rebels, 
he  rebels  with  all  his  force.  Now  Christianity 
expects  from  its  followers  their  utmost  devo- 
tion; Christ  exacts  from  His  disciples  their 
intensest  trust.  He,  too,  like  Shylock,  exacts 
from  His  follower  the  pound  of  flesh  even  to  the 
thousandth  part  of  an  ounce,  and  He  will  be  put 
off  with  nothing  short  of  total  self -surrender. 
Father,  mother,  brother,  sister,  houses,  wives, 
lands,  are  to  be  laid  on  the  altar  of  their  Lord 


as  relentlessly  as  Isaac  was  laid  at  the  hands  of 
his  father.  All  these  are  to  be  as  naught  when 
compared  with  the  devotion  of  Christian  unto 
his  Master.  "If  any  would  follow  after  me  let 
him  deny  himself,  and  take  up  his  cross  daily 
and  follow  me,"  is  the  condition  of  discipleship 
from  the  lips  of  the  Master  Himself.  "  Think 
not,"  He  says,  "  that  I  came  to  bring  peace  on 
earth.  I  came  not  to  bring  peace,  but  a  sword; 
for  I  came  to  set  a  man  at  variance  against  his 
father,  and  the  daughter  against  her  mother, 
and  the  daughter-in-law  against  her  mother-in- 
law;  and  a  man's  foes  shall  be  they  of  his  own 
household.  Who  loveth  father  or  mother  more 
than  me  is  not  worthy  of  me;  and  who  loveth 
son  or  daughter  more  than  me  is  not  worthy  of 
me;  and  who  doth  not  take  his  cross  and  follow 
after  me  is  not  worthy  of  me."  Accordingly  when 
a  Russian  of  Russians  like  Tolstoy  finds  in  the 
words  of  Christ  the  words  of  life — -where  the 
German  pauses  to  investigate  whether  they  be 
of  Christ,  where  the  American  pauses  to  consider 
whether  they  be  practical — Tolstoy  pauses  for 
nothing ;  he  lays  hold  of  them  with  the  passion- 
ateness  of  a  mother  for  her  babe,  with  the  devo- 
tion of  a  lover  for  his  maiden,  with  the  tenderness 
of  a  father  for  his  absent  child.  He  contends 
therefor  with  the  zeal  of  a  partisan  during  a 
campaign;  he  clings  thereto  with  the  pertinacity 
of  a  politician  to  his  office.  Of  obstacles  there  is 
indeed  abundance  enough  here  for  this  man 
Tolstoy;  but  lions  in  the  the  way,  serpents  in 
the  path,  mountains  in  the  road,  they  are  naught 
to  him.  The  lions  he  is  ready  to  pass  by  as  if 
they  were  chained,  the  serpent  he  is  ready  to 


pass  over  as  if  it  were  fangless,  the  mountain  he 
is  ready  to  pass  through  as  if  it  were  about  to 
be  sunk  in  the  sea.  And  great  as  the  outward 
difficulties  be,  the  inward  hindrances  are  in  no 
wise  few.  His  dame  of  a  wife  is  indeed  in  the 
new  life  but  little  of  a  help-mate,  rather  much 
of  a  hinder-mate.  Of  the  fruit  of  his  loins  all 
indeed  honor  the  mother,  not  all  honor  the  father. 
Youth  hath  fled,  middle  age  is  gone;  gray  his 
hair,  lone  his  path;  his  friends  few,  the  mockers 
many.  Yet,  he  goeth  onward,  this  man  Tolstoy, 
on  his  chosen  path,  with  the  heart  of  a  lion, 
with  his  face  as  of  flint.  Such  is  the  intensity 
of  this  man  Tolstoy! 

Out  of  this  hurricane-like  intensity  springs 
Tolstoy's  third  Russian  characteristic,  his  relent- 
less consistency.  When  the  Emperor  Nicholas 
I.  learned  that  the  location  for  the  railroad  be- 
tween St.  Petersburg  and  Moscow  was  being 
influenced  by  bribes,  he  took  a  ruler,  drew  there- 
with a  straight  line  between  the  two  capitals  of 
his  empire,  and  said  to  his  Minister  of  Public 
Works:  •<  I  wish  the  road  to  be  built  so."  And 
the  road  was  built  so,  even  though  large  cities 
be  left  miles  from  the  road.  The  railroad  between 
St.  Petersburg  and  Moscow  is  thus  a  monument 
of  Russian  consistency  as  well  as  of  Russian 
method.  And  of  such  consistency  Tolstoy  is  the 
most  fearless  exponent.  Thus,  William  Lloyd 
Garrison  and  Ralph  Waldo  Emerson  in  America, 
and  John  Ruskin  in  England,  have  each,  in  their 
warfare  with  the  darkness  and  confusion  about 
them,  had  to  contend  with  some  of  the  very 
difficulties  with  which  Tolstoy  has  to  contend. 


Thus  Garrison  was  like  Tolstoy,  also  a  non- 
resistant.  Emerson  was  like  Tolstoy,  also  a 
determined  foe  of  all  manner  of  conformities  to 
a  dead  past.  And  Ruskin  like  Tolstoy,  also  thinks 
the  taking  of  interest  upon  loans  a  right  deadly 
sin.  But  with  all  his  non-resistance  Garrison 
could  still  applaud  a  John  Brown;  with  all  his 
denial  of  the  cross,  Emerson  can  still  attend 
church,  and  bow  his  head  at  prayers  in  the  name 
of  Jesus;  with  all  his  stern  words  against  interest, 
Ruskin  can  still  draw  with  ease  his  five  per  cent. 
Garrison  doeth  indeed  violence  to  his  convictions 
right  impulsively;  Emerson  doeth  violence  to  his 
convictions  right  thoughtfully,  and  Ruskin  doeth 
violence  to  his  convictions  right  conscientiously. 
All,  however,  do  here  violence  to  themselves ; 
all  are  here  equally  inconsistent;  all  here,  instead 
of  remaining  single-eyed,  become  double-eyed. 
Not  so  Tolstoy.  Once  he  beholdeth  what  is  to 
him  the  truth,  and  he  swerveth  neither  to  the 
right,  nor  to  the  left;  though  scorners  scorn, 
and  mockers  mock;  though  friends  forsake,  and 
foes  attack.  America's  right  popular  novelist 
comes,  like  Tolstoy,  also  to  the  conclusion  that  for 
him  at  least  writing  dollarish  novels  is  no  longer 
fit  occupation;  but  American  novelist,  like  Moses 
of  old,  looketh  about  first  to  the  right,  and  then 
to  the  left;  he  putteth  his  ear  to  the  ground, 
and  lo,  from  across  the  Indiana  prairie  he  heareth 
from  the  Lilliputian's  lips,  as  he  standeth  on 
tiptoe,  vociferously  clamor  to  this  Gulliver- 
Tolstoy,  Crank,  crank!  and  forthwith  American 
novelist  writes  more  distasteful  novels,  and 
cashes  more  distasteful  checks.  Tolstoy  also 
heareth    Lilliputian's    voicelet    with    its    Crank! 



rank!  but  still  he  changes  coat  for  blouse,  still 
he  changes  shoes  for  basket  work,  still  he  changes 
novelistic  pen  for  shoemaker's  bodkin. 

Accordingly,  though,  as  we  shall  presently  see, 
it  is  impossible  to  commend  Tolstoy's  doings  as 
a  whole,  this  intensity,  this  consistency  forms 
Tolstoy's  great  strength  before  men.  For  while, 
indeed,  the  strict  obedience  unto  the  Sermon  on 
the  Mount,  which  is  so  central  to  Tolstoy,  is  no 
more  the  true  centre  of  Christian's  life  than  the 
Capitol  at  Washington  or  the  Stock  Exchange  of 
New  York  is  the  true  centre  of  American  life, 
men  are  now  feeling  the  great  need  of  such  obe- 
dience in  their  hearts,  however  little  they  be  ready 
to  practice  it  in  their  lives.  For  never  has  there 
been  such  wide  departure  of  practice  from  pro- 
fession as  now ;  never  has  the  Bible  been  so  much 
studied  and  so  little  followed  as  now;  never  has 
the  Lord  Christ  been  so  highly  revered  and  so 
little  obeyed  as  now.  Christianity  has  become  a 
kind  of  lusty  babe  buried  by  officious  nurses  in 
a  mass  of  swaddling  clothes;  and  what  is  heard 
now  is  no  longer  the  gentle  cooing  of  the  playful 
child,  but  rather  the  scream  of  the  agonized  babe. 
Christianity  is  now  a  diamond  that,  in  the  hands 
of  the  miserable  artists  has  been  cut  and  cut 
so  much,  that  all  that  is  left  thereof  is  the  lustre 
projected  on  the  stereopticon  screen,  while  the 
diamond  itself  has  been  frittered  away  in  constant 
filings.  Christianity  has  become  a  ladder  unto 
heaven  from  which  the  rungs  have  been  taken 
out,  and  all  that  is  left  are  the  two  side-poles, 
with   which   men   are   left   to   vault   themselves 


heavenward  as  best  they  may.  The  Lord  Christ 
is,  in  fact,  faring  in  the  Christian  world  as  Tolstoy 
himself  is  now  faring  in  his  own  native  land. 
The  Emperor  asks  indeed  his  advice,  and  kisses 
him  on  the  one  cheek;  the  censor  suppresses 
his  books  and  thus  smites  him  on  the  other. 
The  Sermon  on  the  Mount  has  become  in  the 
hands  of  Christendom  a  kind  of  Dudleian  lecture 
at  Harvard.  The  foundation  of  the  lectureship 
is  indeed  welcomed,  and  its  fee  right  gladly 
accepted,  but  the  founder's  will  is  not  only  most 
quietly  ignored,  it  is  even  most  blandly  disobeyed. 

Dante  tells  of  a  strange  encounter  between  a 
certain  man  and  a  serpent.  For  a  time  the 
enmity  is  right  intense,  and  the  foes  stand 
glaring  at  each  other.  All  at  once  a  cloud  sur- 
rounds them,  and  then  a  marvellous  change  takes 
place;  each  becomes  transfigured  into  the  like- 
ness of  the  other.  The  tail  of  the  serpent  divides 
into  two  legs,  the  legs  of  the  man  intertwine 
into  a  tail;  the  body  of  the  serpent  puts  forth 
arms,  the  arms  of  the  man  shrink  into  his  body. 
At  length,  the  serpent  stands  up  and  speaks,  the 
man  sinks  down  a  serpent,  and  glides  hissing 
away.  Some  such  transformation  hath  taken 
place  in  the  relation  of  Christianity  and  the 
world.  Instead  of  gazing  fixedly  into  the  face 
of  the  Master,  and  becoming  thus  transformed 
into  His  likeness  from  glory  unto  glory,  Christen- 
dom has  been  gazing  steadfastly  upon  the  prince 
of  this  world,  becoming  thus  transformed  into 
his  likeness  from  shame  unto  shame.  The  church 
has  not  succeeded  in  reforming  the  world,  the 


world  has  succeeded  in  deforming  the  church; 
the  church  has  failed  in  raising  the  world  to  itself, 
the  world  has  succeeded  in  dragging  down  the 
church  to  itself;  the  church  has  but  little  purified 
the  world ;  the  world  has  much  tainted  the  church. 
The  church  in  its  relation  to  the  world  has  fared 
almost  like  the  sole  missionary  sent  by  the 
Socinians  to  the  Hindus.  He  sets  out  to  convert 
the  Hindus;  he  returns  a  converted  Hindu 

In  so  far,  therefore,  that  Tolstoy  is  a  protester 
against  Christendom's  crying  sin  of  calling  unto 
Christ,  "  Lord!  Lord!  "  without  doing  His  com- 
mandments, Tolstoy  stands  on  right  firm  ground. 
He  is  not  yet  here  indeed  a  life-saving  boat 
approaching  the  drowning,  but  he  is  at  least 
here  a  beacon  light  warning  the  mariner  against 
the  threatening  danger.  In  so  far,  therefore, 
that  Tolstoy  right  vociferously  clamors  for  stern 
obedience  to  the  word  of  Christ,  for  strict  sub- 
mission to  the  authority  of  Christ,  he  is  more 
Christian  than  Christendom,  he  is  more  a  child 
of  light  than  the  opponents  of  the  ruler  of  dark- 
ness by  profession,  he  is  a  more  faithful  inhabitant 
of  the  kingdom  of  heaven,  though  not  even 
naturalized  therein,  than  many  a  child  of  the 
kingdom  which  claimeth  the  right  of  one  born 


Out  of  this  thorough-going  consistency  of  Tol- 
stoy, which  makes  his  protest  so  effectual  before 
men  in  their  disobedience  of  Christ,  springs  the 
fourth   characteristic   of   Tolstoy   as   a   religious 


writer,  his  simplicity  of  method  with  which  he 
is  enabled  to  do  battle  against  the  falsities  of 
modern  life — a  simplicity  so  stern  in  all  its  sincerity 
as  to  enable  him  to  do  away  with  even  all  the 
arts  of  the  writer,  with  all  the  graces  of  style. 
Where  before  as  the  writer  of  fiction  he  had  been 
artist  of  artists,  when  he  becomes  a  writer  for 
truth  he  fares  like  an  American  President  at  the 
expiration  of  his  term.  As  such  a  one  is  hence- 
forth no  longer  President,  but  only  an  ex-Presi- 
dent, so  Tolstoy  as  a  religious  writer  is  no  longer 
the  artist,  but  only  the  ex-artist.  Accordingly, 
though  in  his  criticism  of  modern  life  he  is  as 
relentless  as  Carlyle,  though  in  his  exposition  of 
modern  self-deception  he  is  as  merciless  as 
Ruskin,  though  in  his  warfare  against  modern 
self-satisfaction  he  is  as  persistent  as  Arnold, 
he  brings  to  his  task  none  of  Carlyle's  piquancy 
of  scorn,  none  of  Ruskin's  eloquence  of  sorrow, 
none  of  Arnold's  vivacious  playfulness.  While 
these  bring  to  their  warfare  a  right  goodly  supply 
of  all  manner  of  literary  ammunition  and  baggage, 
Tolstoy  comes  to  the  fray  wholly  unarmed. 
Where  these  are  Goliaths,  with  helmets  of  brass 
and  coats  of  mail,  with  greaves  upon  their  legs 
and  javelins  upon  their  shoulders,  Tolstoy  is  a 
kind  of  David,  who  approaches  his  adversary 
with  only  sling  in  hand  and  pebbles  in  his  bag. 
Where  Carlyle  lays  bare  the  modern  much  dis- 
guised rottenness  with  right  volcanoish  pictur- 
esqueness,  Tolstoy  does  it  with  the  dryness  of  the 
surgeon,  with  the  coldness  of  the  bare  steel. 
Where  Ruskin  brings  to  his  task  a  pathetic 
humor  which  draws  indeed  the  twinkle  into  one 
eye,  but  the  tear  into  the  other,   Tolstoy,  like 


a  soldier  on  parade,  remains  sober  and  stiff 
throughout.  Where  Arnold  stabs  modern  society 
with  all  the  elegance  of  the  French  duelist — who 
first  shakes  his  antagonist's  hand,  and  then 
apologizes  for  the  necessity  of  having  to  smite 
him  under  the  fifth  rib,  Tolstoy  brings  with 
him  the  matter-of-fact  way  of  the  Yankee  duelist, 
who,  being  unable  to  handle  either  pistol  or 
sword,  offers  his  antagonist  instead  two  pills, 
of  which  one  is  harmless  and  the  other  a  deadly 
poison;  but,  though  his  logic  is  as  cold  as  a 
Supreme  Court  decision,  and  his  style  as  bald 
as  a  statistical  table,  such  is  the  native  purity 
of  his  zeal  that  it  mocks  adornment;  such  the 
native  power  of  his  thought,  that  it  can  spare 
the  literary  paraphernalia.  What  he  lacks  here 
in  art  he  makes  up  with  his  life;  what  he  lacks 
here  in  grace  he  makes  up  with  his  truth. 

Out  of  this  simplicity  of  Tolstoy  springs  his 
last  Russian  characteristic,  his  childlikeness. 
For,  however  great  the  intensity  of  the  Russian, 
his  is  not  so  much  the  disciplined,  tempered 
intensity;  his  is  rather  the  undisciplined,  child- 
like intensity.  For  while  the  intensity  of  the 
Western  people  has  been  tempered  by  the  ages, 
the  Russian's  is  untutored,  untempered,  inex- 
perienced intensity.  Accordingly,  when  Peter 
the  Great  starts  out  to  reform  his  subjects  it 
must  be  done  in  a  day,  and  when  the  Revolution- 
ists undertake  to  free  their  country  from  despotic 
rule,  it  must  be  dynamited  into  freedom  in  a 
night.  When  Napoleon  is  to  be  defeated,  sacred 
mother  Moscow  is  unhesitatingly  given  over  to 


the  flames.  When  rebellions  are  to  be  crushed, 
whole  villages  are  to  be  given  over  to  the  mines. 
Accordingly  when  Tolstoy  beholds  what  is  to 
him  new  truth,  Christian  truth,  he  lays  hold 
thereof,  indeed,  with  right  Russian  intensity; 
but  it  is  with  immature  intensity,  with  the  inten- 
sity of  a  child  for  its  latest  plaything.  For  where 
the  Frenchman  loves  Christian  truth  like  a 
mistress,  ready  to  part  with  her  at  any  moment 
for  another,  where  the  Englishman  loves  Christian 
truth  like  his  wedded  wife,  ready  to  divorce  her, 
if  need  be,  on  rather  stern  occasion,  where  the 
German  loves  Christian  truth  like  his  old  grand- 
mother, ever  providing  for  her,  though  not  always 
living  with  her,  while  lastly  the  American  loves 
Christian  truth  as  one  loves  a  rich  uncle,  ever 
expecting  at  some  future  a  goodly  income  there- 
from, the' Russian  clings  to  Christian  truth  as 
the  child  clings  to  his  plaything;  whether  it  be 
gold,  whether  it  be  brass,  it  matters  but  little  to 
him,  if  only  it  give  the  longed-for  joy,  if  only  it 
furnish  the  promised  peace. 


This  childlikeness  serves  Tolstoy  indeed  in 
excellent  stead,  as  long  as  he  remains  a  mere 
protester  against  the  disobedience  of  Christen- 
dom, as  long  as  he  remains  a  faithful  witness 
to  the  blessings  that  come  from  obedience  unto 
Christ.  But  the  half -grown  child  undertakes  the 
work  of  a  man ;  the  feeder  on  milk  undertakes  to 
be  the  dispenser  of  meat ;  he  that  had  just  begun 
to  sit  at  the  Master's  feet  undertakes  to  become 
a  teacher  in  Israel.     Accordingly  he  meets  with 

TOLSTOY  52  1 

the  doom  appointed  unto  all  such;  and  when  he 
becomes  an  expounder  of  Christianity,  when,  like 
Uzzah  of  old,  he  undertakes  to  steady  with  un- 
hallowed hand  the  ark  of  God,  he  loses  nearly 
all  the  virtues  of  childhood,  he  acquires  nearly 
all  the  vices  of  childishness.  The  child  with 
man's  hat  over  its  eyes,  and  man's  boots  over  its 
feet,  can  only  shuffle  and  stumble  and  fall;  the 
uninvited  steadier  of  the  ark  can  only  be  smitten 
with  speedy  death.  Accordingly  when  he  ceases 
to  be  a  critic  and  becomes  a  preacher,  when  he 
ceases  to  be  a  witness  and  becomes  a  teacher, 
Tolstoy  can  be  as  meaningless  as  an  explanation  by 
Herbert  Spencer,  as  confused  as  a  metaphor  by 
Longfellow,  as  obscure  as  a  definition  by  Mill; 
he  can  become  as  involved  as  an  oration  by 
Choate,  he  can  become  as  dry  as  a  botany  text- 
book. The  German  rationalists,  for  instance, 
as  well  as  Matthew  Arnold,  have  also  endeavored 
right  earnestly  to  dispose  of  the  New  Testament 
histories  in  a  manner  reconcilable  with  their 
own  hungry  imaginings,  much  as  the  wolf  likes 
to  dispose  of  the  lamb,  much  as  the  fox  likes  to 
dispose  of  the  chicken;  but  these  do  so  at  least 
with  some  pretence  to  biblical  scholarship;  these 
do  so  at  least  with  some  regard  to  plain  cyclo- 
paedia facts.  Tolstoy,  however,  with  a  simplicity 
that  is  indeed  childlike,  but  with  self-confidence 
that  is  hardly  other  than  childish  vaults  over 
the  New  Testament  facts  as  a  gymnast  over  a 
fence  in  his  way,  and  dismisses  the  ordinary 
cyclopaedia  data  with  the  unconcern  of  a  Tam- 
many chief  over  public  opinion,  or  of  the  evo- 
lutionist over  the  persistent  absence  of  the  much 
desired   missing    link.      Learning    and    research, 

52  2  TOLSTOY 

exactness  and  care,  he  casts  it  all  off  as  a  cumber- 
some load  like  to  impede  his  onward  commenta- 
torial  march.  In  his  fear  of  becoming  entangled 
in  the  jungle  of  the  forest,  he  omits  to  note  the 
single  trees;  in  his  eagerness  to  escape  the 
blinding  snow  storm,  he  shuts  his  eyes  even  against 
the  single  flakes.  As  in  their  eagerness  to  get 
to  the  front,  our  late  warriors  in  Cuba  threw 
away  their  blankets  and  rations  only  to  find  them- 
selves shortly  shivering  and  starving,  so  in  his 
childlike  eagerness  to  get  at  what  is  to  him  the 
meat  of  Christ,  the  core  of  Christianity,  Tolstoy 
casts  away  all  that  was  meant  to  clothe  him, 
all  that  was  meant  to  feed  him.  With  his  con- 
tempt for  dogmatics  and  homiletics,  of  liturgies 
and  hermeneutics  and  apologetics,  he  casts  away, 
also,  the  plain  historical  facts  of  Christianity, 
the  simple  truth  about  Christ.  Accordingly, 
what  Christian  science  is  to  true  religion,  what 
friend  Jasper's  theories  are  to  astronomy,  what 
friend  Kipling's  verses  are  to  poetry,  what  our 
dollarish  novels  are  to  literature,  that  is  Tolstoy 
to  historic  Christianity. 


Like  all  the  wise  and  prudent  of  this  age,  for 
instance,  concerning  whom  it  hath  been  decreed 
that  the  wisdom  of  God,  as  revealed  in  the  cross 
of  Christ,  shall  remain  foolishness  unto  them, 
Tolstoy  also  rejects  the  miraculous  birth  of  the 
Lord,  His  signs  and  wonders,  His  rising  from  the 
dead.  In  common  with  the  wise  of  this  age, 
Tolstoy  also  casts  away  the  depravity  of  man  and 
his  need  of  being  born  anew;  he  casts  away  the 
judgment  of  the  wicked  and  the  reward  of  the 


righteous,  the  great  and  terrible  day  of  the  Lord, 
and  the  wrath  to  come  from  which  men  are  warned 
to  flee.  In  common  with  the  wise  and  the  prudent 
of  this  age,  Tolstoy,  also,  finds  himself  in  no 
need  of  a  Saviour  that  shed  His  blood  for  him. 
He  rejects,  in  short,  with  all  the  wise  men  of  the 
West,  all  that  is  truly  essential  to  a  right  knowl- 
edge of  God,  all  that  is  truly  essential  to  a  right 
steadfast  hope  for  man.  But  while  the  wise  men 
of  the  West  reject  all  these  things  at  least  with 
some  show  of  reason,  Tolstoy  does  not  deem  it 
needful  to  hold  to  even  what  little  is  left  of 
reason  in  modern  unreasonableness.  He  tells 
us,  for  example,  that  Jesus  taught  that  "  all 
men  have  a  common  impulse  toward  good  and 
toward  reason,"  as  if  He  had  never  said  to  some 
folk:  "  If  God  were  your  father,  ye  would  love 
me.  Ye  are  of  your  father,  the  devil,  and  the 
lusts  of  your  father  it  is  your  will  to  do."  Tolstoy 
affirms  with  right  firm  confidence  that  Jesus 
"  called  all  men  sons  of  God,"  as  if  Christ  had 
never  uttered  the  sentence:  "And  this  is  the 
judgment  that  light  is  come  into  the  world,  and 
men  loved  darkness  rather  than  light."  As  the 
adventurous  counts  and  princes  who  seek  their 
fortune  in  foreign  lands  boast  of  their  fictitious 
titles  as  if  no  Gotha  Almanachs  were  at  hand 
wherewith  to  test  their  lordly  pretensions,  so 
Tolstoy  puts  sayings  into  the  mouth  of  Jesus 
as  if  no  New  Testament  were  at  hand  to  show 
that  the  words  of  Christ  are  far  other  than  these. 
Not  only,  says  he  for  example,  did  not  Jesus  rise 
from  the  dead,  He  never  said  even  a  serious 
word  about  His  rising  from  the  dead.  And  if 
learned  Christian  folk,   scientific  Christian  folk, 



are  here  totally  at  fault  it  is  because  they  fail 
to  read  a  little  Greek  aright  under  scholarly 
Tolstoy's  instruction.  The  New  Testament 
signs  and  wonders  fare  a  like  fate  at  his  hands. 
He  is  confident  that  the  New  Testament,  if  but 
rightly  understood,  tells  of  no  signs,  tells  of  no 
wonders;  that  its  withered  arms,  if  arms  at  all, 
are  certainly  not  withered;  that  its  lame  feet,  if 
feet  at  all,  are  certainly  not  lame;  that  its  blind 
eyes,  if  eyes  at  all,  are  certainly  not  blind.  And 
that  all  that  is  needful  here  to  see  aright,  accord- 
ing to  Tolstoy,  all  that  is  needful  here  to  decide 
betwixt  the  plain  sense  of  nineteen  centuries 
and  these  new  though  ever  old  imaginings  of 
this  latest  of  commentators,  is  a  new  edition 
of  Professor  Goodwin's  "  Greek  Moods  and 
Tenses,"  duly  annotated  at  Tolstoy's  country 
home  at  Yasnaya  Poly  ana. 

The  difficulty  of  dealing  with  such  criticism 
of  Christianity  is  not  so  much  the  strength  of 
the  exposition;  there  is  no  strength  here.  It  is 
rather  the  difficulty  of  becoming  childish  one's 
self  in  order  to  meet  such  juvenile  method  of 
criticism.  The  best  reply  to  inappropriate  wit 
is  not  so  much  wit  as  sobriety;  the  best  reply 
to  inappropriate  sobriety  is  not  so  much  sobriety 
as  wit.  But  childishness  cannot  always  be  met 
by  manliness.  It  is  difficult  to  discuss  the  calculus 
with  one  who  has  not  yet  mastered  the  multi- 
plication table.  For  catching  a  mosquito  even  the 
lion  is  weak;  for  knocking  down  a  straw  even  a 
giant  may  strike  in  vain. 



And  yet,  even  with  all  his  childish  treatment 
of  Christianity,  Tolstoy  has  succeeded  in  getting 
a  peace  therefrom  he  had  not  hitherto  known. 
Tolstoy  has  succeeded  in  getting  a  joy  therefrom 
he  had  not  hitherto  tasted.  Hitherto  he  had  for 
some  fifteen  years  of  his  mortal  life  gone  about 
with  despair  in  his  heart,  with  thought  of  self- 
murder  in  his  mind.  All  at  once  he  gets 
even  a  distant  glimpse  of  the  truth  as  it  is  in 
Jesus,  and  lo!  he  is  henceforth  a  changed  man. 
Not  only  hath  the  hitherto  loathed  existence 
new  meaning  for  him,  he  cannot  even  rest  until 
he  hath  pointed  others  unto  this  newly  found 
way.  Accordingly,  when  one  first  approaches 
Tolstoy  it  is  with  the  feeling  of  dim-eyed  Isaac 
towards  the  disguised  Jacob.  The  hands  and 
the  neck  have,  indeed,  the  required  hairiness; 
and  though  the  voice  is  rather  puzzling,  sup- 
planting Jacob  at  last  carrieth  off  the  blessing; 
but  this  is  not  so  much  because  of  Jacob's  truth, 
but  rather  because  of  Isaac's  eagerness  to  bestow 
the  blessing.  Accordingly,  the  peace  and  joy 
of  Tolstoy  are  due  not  so  much  to  the  fact  that 
he  has  at  last  laid  hold  of  the  Truth,  but  rather 
because  he  hath  gotten  even  a  glimpse  of  the 
Truth.  For  it  is  the  glory  of  Christianity  that 
whoso  setteth  himself  faithfully  to  abide  by  the 
words  of  the  Master,  however  few  these  be,  is 
ever  rewarded  with  a  peace  he  knows  not  before, 
is  ever  rewarded  with  a  joy  he  finds  not  elsewhere. 
The  witness  of  Tolstoy  herein  is  abidingly  true, 
the  witness  of  the  Quakers  is  here  unimpeachably 
firm.  But  all  this  not  because  the  Sermon  on 
the  Mount  is  all  that  is  to  be  learned  from  Christ, 


not  because  all  that  is  to  be  done  is  to  be  a  servant 
of  Christ,  but  rather  because  such  is  the  heavenly 
riches  of  the  Son  of  God  that  whoso  toucheth  if 
but  the  hem  of  His  garment,  getteth  away  there- 
from in  no  wise  empty-handed,  departeth  from 
Him  in  no  wise  unblest.  But  outward  obedience 
to  a  few  of  the  precepts  of  Christ  is  not  yet 
Christianity,  outward  submission  even  to  the 
authority  of  Christ,  is  not  yet  faith  in  the  blood 
of  Christ. 

Accordingly,  like  the  young  ruler  in  the  gospels, 
Tolstoy  is,  indeed,  not  far  from  the  kingdom  of 
God,  but  he  is  not  yet  in  the  kingdom  of  God. 
To  him,  also,  must  be  said,  as  it  has  been  said 
unto  the  youth  of  old,  One  thing  thou  lackest 
yet.  He  has  come  just  near  the  Sun  of  Righteous- 
ness to  feel  His  rays,  but  he  has  not  come  near 
enough  to  be  swallowed  up  in  Him — which  alone 
it  is  that  giveth  the  Truth.  Tolstoy  is  a  comet; 
had  just  got  near  enough  to  the  great  orb,  only 
to  start  off  again  for  the  depths  beyond.  He  has 
accepted  the  Master  as  his  teacher;  this  is  a 
deliverance.  He  has  not  accepted  Him  as  his 
Saviour,  and  thus  misses  the  deliverance.  Hence, 
though  Tolstoy  uses  the  words  of  Christ,  he  is 
deprived  of  the  fruits  of  Christ.  His  is  the 
position  of  the  chemist,  who  knoweth,  indeed, 
how  to  change  diamond  into  carbon,  but  can 
in  no  wise  turn  the  carbon  into  the  diamond. 
Like  that  ingenious  Jerseyman  he  can  change 
the  corn  meal,  water,  and  lime  into  eggs  that 
deceive  even  the  gourmand,  but  as  they  have 
no  life  in  them  they  do  not  hatch.  Follow  Christ, 
obey    Christ,    imitate    Christ,    these   words    are, 


indeed,  better  than  naught,  but  for  opening  the 
gates  of  heaven  they  are  as  yet  of  no  avail. 
"  Open  Wheat,  open  Barley,"  cries  Cassin  in 
the  Arabian  tale;  but  the  doors  open  not  to 
Open  Wheat,  open  Barley,  but  only  to  Open 
Sesame.  Even  thus,  imitate  Christ,  obey  Christ, 
might  make,  indeed,  better  men;  but  to  make 
out  of  the  children  of  men  sons  of  God,  for  this, 
trust  in  the  blood  of  Christ  is  the  only  Sesame  that 
opens  the  enchanted  door.  The  acceptance  of 
Christ  as  teacher  is  thus  to  the  acceptance  of 
Christ  as  Lord,  what  ordinary  rose  water  is  to 
the  attar  of  roses:  where  the  one  is  but  a  diluted 
mixture,   the  other  is   the  packed   essence. 


The  great  error  of  Tolstoy  is  thus,  first  of  all, 
in  supposing  that  all  Jesus  Christ  came  to  do 
was  to  make  men  happy,  and,  therefore,  all  that 
is  needful  here  for  men  is  to  obey  the  Sermon 
on  the  Mount.  But  already,  at  the  very  outset, 
Tolstoy  betrays  the  weakness  of  his  cause  by 
neglecting  the  words  of  Christ  in  the  very  dis- 
course he  so  highly  exalts  before  men.  For  in 
that  same  Sermon  on  the  Mount  from  which 
he  chooses  only  five  commandments  to  obey, 
there  is  another,  a  sixth,  which  begins :  "  When  ye 
therefore  pray,  say,  our  Father  which  art  in 
heaven,  hallowed  be  Thy  Name."  Concerning 
this  commandment  which  places  the  seeking  of 
the  glory  due  unto  His  Name,  even  before  the 
request  for  daily  bread,  Tolstoy  is  silent.  The 
worship  of  God,  which,  in  the  estimation  of 
Jesus,  is  after  all  the  chief  end  of  man — for  this, 
Tolstoy  has  no  place  in  his  scheme  of  life.     But 


the  Son  of  man  came  not  so  much  to  make 
happy  men  out  of  unhappy  men,  but  rather  to 
make  God-like  men  out  of  brute-like  men.  The 
Son  of  man  came  not  so  much  to  assign  potato- 
patches  to  the  poor  and  vineyards  to  the  needy, 
as  to  make  children  of  light  out  of  children  of 
darkness,  to  make  into  sons  of  God  those  who 
are  servants  of  Satan. 


Accordingly,  the  inevitable  result  of  such  a 
partial  view  of  the  Prince  of  Life  is  that  life 
itself  becomes  to  Tolstoy  something  almost 
petty;  his  remedies  for  the  ills  of  life  become 
something  almost  quacklike.  Niagara  is  set  to 
the  turning  of  children's  play  wheels,  the  volcano 
is  used  to  roast  eggs  with,  the  great  writer  becomes 
a  dispenser  of  panaceas.  To  his  talk  on  non- 
resistance  and  non-divorce  is  shortly  added  talk 
on  having  a  wife  for  only  one  day  in  the  year; 
and  his  folk  tales  on  love  become  supplemented 
by  a  Kreuzer  Sonata.  He  thus  takes  his  place 
beside  those  well-meaning  folk  who  see  in  the 
abstinence  from  salt  and  featherbeds  a  sure 
remedy  for  the  ills  of  private  life,  who  see  in  the 
single  tax  a  sure  remedy  for  the  ills  of  national 


The  error  of  Tolstoy,  however,  has  likewise 
become  the  error  of  much  that  is  otherwise  truly 
well-meaning  in  Christendom.  Peace  upon  earth 
and  good-will  among  men — upon  these  words 
men  linger  in  these  days  right  tenderly,  as  if 
happiness,  contentment,  were  all  men  need  to 
strive  for.     And  yet,   even  if  all  men  were  to 


become  Tolstoys,  even  if  all  men  were  to  become 
Socialists  or  Quakers,  even  if  all  the  poor  were  to 
become  willing  disciples  in  the  hands  of  their 
Associated  Charity  visiting  friends,  they  would 
perhaps  attain,  indeed,  unto  peace  at  last;  but 
it  would  be  a  peace  no  higher  in  its  kind  than 
the  peace  of  the  mire-loving  sun-basking,  four- 
footed  thing  as  it  grunteth  right  universal  good- 
will toward  pigdom  because  of  abundance  of 
wash  in  the  trough.  "  The  swine!  "  exclaimed  a 
colored  philosopher,  as  he  sighed  with  our  modern 
reformers  for  happiness,  "  the  swine  need  not 
work  for  a  living,  the  swine  comes  and  goes  when 
it  pleases,  the  swine  has  its  food  brought  to  its 
trough,  the  swine  is  a — gentleman!  "  The  error 
that  after  some  sixty  centuries  of  struggle  for 
existence,  progress  of  species,  and  survival  of 
the  fittest,  men  are  at  last  to  arrive  where  pigdom 
already  is  without  struggle  for  existence,  evolu- 
tion of  species,  and  march  of  ages — this  is  what 
forms  the  tragedy  of  the  Socialisms,  Peace 
Unions,  Associated  Charities,  Single  Taxes,  and 
the  numerous  other  unions  of  zeroes  that  clamor 
so  loudly  for  adoption,  that  hope  so  pathetically 
for  the  predicted  results  that  never  arrive. 


And  these  results,  so  patiently  waited  for,  so 
lovingly  toiled  for,  never  can  arrive,  because 
the  ailment  of  man  is  not  so  much  in  his  wrong 
relation  toward  man,  but  rather  in  his  wrong 
relation  toward  God;  and  all  attempts  to  help 
men  for  other  than  a  brief  time  without  first 
helping  them  to  God,  is  merely  to  re-enact  the  fate 
of  Sisyphus  of  old.     No  sooner  does  he,   after 


much  toil,  roll  his  stone  to  the  top  of  the  hill, 
then  down  it  comes  again,  and  the  weary  task 
has  to  be  begun  anew. 


Now  it  is  the  glory  of  Christ  that  He  alone  in 
all  history  offers  unto  men,  first  of  all,  to  reconcile 
them  unto  God.  It  is  the  glory  of  Christianity 
that  it  alone  of  all  religions  promises  unto  men 
first  of  all  that  life  which  is  life  indeed.  Thus 
Emerson,  Carlyle,  Ruskin,  Arnold  and  Tolstoy 
all  sadly  confess  with  Christianity  that  man  is 
lame;  but  where  Emerson  offers  stilts,  and 
Carlyle  offers  crutches;  where  Ruskin  offers  a 
wheeling  chair  and  Arnold  offers  heeled  shoes; 
lastly  where  Tolstoy  offers  his  own  back  even, 
whereon  to  carry  the  lame,  Christianity  offers  a 
new  pair  of  feet.  Where  modern  reformers  are 
right  busy  with  helping  the  fevered  with  quinine, 
Christianity  offers  no  quinine;  it  furnishes  that 
in  its  stead  which  makes  fevers  impossible, 
quinine  needless,  namely,  cleansed  blood.  Modern 
reform  finds  that  the  human  tiger  hath  claws 
and  teeth;  that  the  human  adder  hath  fangs; 
that  the  human  wasp  hath  a  sting;  and  being 
charitably  inclined  it  forthwith  sets  about  to 
unclaw  the  tiger,  to  unfang  the  adder,  to  unsting 
the  wasp.  But  the  clawless  tiger  is  still  a  rave- 
nous beast;  the  fangless  adder  is  still  the  hissing 
serpent;  the  stingless  asp  is  still  the  annoying 
fly.  Not  so  Christianity:  Christianity  takes  the 
boar  out  and  puts  the  lamb  in;  so  that  the  lion 
eateth  straw  like  the  ox,  and  the  wolf  and  the 
lamb  lie  down  together. 


Accordingly,  though  Christian  looketh  also 
with  the  sighing  reformers  for  new  heavens  and 
a  new  earth,  though  he  also  looketh  for  a  time 
when  sorrow  and  pain  shall  be  no  more  and  tears 
shall  be  wiped  out  of  every  eye,  and  sickness  and 
death  shall  be  no  more,  he  looketh  for  these  to 
be  brought  about  not  by  the  well  meaning  effort 
of  sinful  man,  but  rather  by  the  revelation  from 
the  heavens  of  the  sinless  Son  of  God.  Christian 
also  looketh  for  that  day  when  men  shall  not 
labor  in  vain,  nor  bring  forth  trouble;  when 
they  shall  not  build  and  another  inhabit;  when 
they  shall  not  plant  and  another  eat.  Christian 
also  looketh  for  that  day  when  the  eyes  of  the 
blind  shall  be  opened,  and  the  ears  of  the  deaf 
shall  be  unstopped;  when  the  lame  man  shall 
leap  as  a  hart,  and  the  tongue  of  the  dumb  shall 
sing.  But  this  will  not  come  to  pass  until  men 
cease  from  trusting  in  the  arm  of  flesh,  and  cast 
away  their  own  doings;  until  men  turn  their 
eyes  heavenward,  and  cry,  "  Oh,  that  Thou 
wouldst  rend  the  heavens,  that  Thou  wouldst 
come  down,  that  the  mountains  might  flow  at 
Thy  presence."  When  men  have  at  last  taken 
their  eyes  off  themselves,  and  have  turned  them 
unto  Him,  who  hath  said:  "  Look  unto  me,  ye 
ends  of  the  earth,  and  be  ye  saved,"  then,  but 
not  till  then  shall  it  come  to  pass  that  men  shall 
say:  "  Lo,  this  is  our  God,  we  have  waited  for 
Him,  and  He  it  is  that  will  save  us."  When  the 
law  goeth  forth  from  Zion,  and  the  word  of  the 
Lord  from  Jerusalem,  then,  but  not  until  then, 
shall  they  beat  their  swords  into  ploughshares 
and     their     spears     into     pruninghooks ;     then, 


indeed,  shall  nation  not  lift  up  sword  against 
nation,  neither  shall  they  learn  war  any  more. 
But  ere  the  Judge  of  the  quick  and  the  dead 
become  unto  men  the  Redeemer  from  Zion,  they 
must  give  heed  unto  the  commandment:  "  Cease 
ye  from  man,  whose  breath  is  in  his  nostrils,  for 
wherein  is  he  to  be  accounted  of  ?  " 



You  will  of  course,  dear  reader,  kindly  excuse 
me  from  explaining  to  you  just  what  a  B.I.  is, 
since  I  am  still  burdened  with  a  goodly  share  of 
thalf  Asiatic  and  one-quarter  European  modesty, 
the  remaining  quarter  being  a  mixture  of  various 
other  geographical  ingredients.  But  if  you  care 
to  go  to  the  office  of  the  Associated  Charities 
on  Chardon  Street  they  will  tell  you  that  a 
B.I.  is  a  benevolent  individual  (they  write,  it, 
however,  in  capitals) — a  man  with  a  good-sized 
heart  inside  of  him,  and  an  at  least  fair-sized  head 
on  top  of  him.  I  belong  to  that  class,  however, 
by  sheer  courtesy,  so  to  speak.  For  while  about 
the  size  of  my  heart  there  may  be  no  doubt, 
there  is  some  dispute  as  to  the  necessary  quali- 
fication of  my  poor  head.  Be  that  as  it  may, 
I  have  had  but  few  of  the  joys  of  a  B.I.,  but  a 
goodly  number  of  his  tribulations;  and  just  now, 
to  tell  truth,  I  need  a  little  sympathy;  so  bear 
kindly  with  this  bid  for  fellowship  on  the  part  of 
other  B.I.'s. 

On  Saturday,  May  12,  I  left  Cleveland,  at  half 
past  three  in  the  morning,  to  cross  nearly  the  whole 
of  the  state  of  Ohio,  from  north  to  south.  I  was 
awake  at  least  an  hour  earlier;  already  two  days 
before  I  had  to  leave  Syracuse  at  an  almost 
equally  early  hour,  having  been  on  my  way  from 
Worcester  since  Monday.  I  had  spoken  in  Syra- 
cuse thrice,  in  Cleveland  once;  had  had  hardly 

534  TRIBULATIONS    OF    A    B.I. 

sufficient  rest  at  night,  had  travelled  some  one 
thousand  miles,  and  here  I  was  at  last  in  a  small 
village  in  Southern  Ohio  at  about  one  in  the 
afternoon,  having  had  neither  sleep  since  two  in 
the  morning,  nor  food  since  seven  Friday  night. 

But  I  was  a — B.L 

And  being  a  B.L,  accordingly  I  found  among 
the  letters  awaiting  me  here  the  following : 

Boston,  May  8. 
Dear  Sir: — 

Learning  of  you  may  I  seek  you  as  possible  kind 
means  of  assistance? 

Not  long  ago  my  husband,  a  successful  druggist  and 
chemist,  lost  his  all  financially  by  explosion  in  labor- 
atory connected  with  his  drugstore.  Insurance  com- 
pany proved  the  explosion  was  the  result  of  careless- 
ness on  part  of  husband's  partner,  and  no  insurance  was 

This  sudden  and  complete  loss  of  means  of  support 
proved  to  be  such  sorrow  as  overthrew  reason  of  my 
good  husband.  He  died  a  raving  maniac.  I  have  been 
battling  to  become  a  successful  wage-earner,  seeking 
to  utilize  my  practical  knowledge  of  French  and  German 
as  a  teacher. 

Suffice  it  to  say  not  yet  is  success  mine,  and  I  am 
"falling  by  the  wayside"  from  sorrow  and  ill  success. 
Knowing  of  you  as  an  author,  it  occurs  to  me  that  you 
may  have  it  within  your  power  and  in  your  heart  to 
suggest  some  means  by  which  I  may  help  self  during 
the  summer  until  the  season  for  teaching  shall  return. 

That  you  may  know  a  little  of  me,  or  rather  of  my  an- 
tecedents, may  I  mention  that  I  am  a  niece  of (a 

celebrated  American  author  now  dead),  whose  name 
may  be  familiar  to  you.  In  teaching  I  resume  my 
maiden  name,  as  husband's  death  occasioned  notoriety. 

So  long  has  been  my  struggle  for  legitimate  support, 
and  so  bitter  my  failure  and  present  helplessness,  that 
any  encouraging  word  from  you  or  your  wife  would 
infinitely  relieve.  sincerely,  Mrs. 

TRIBULATIONS    OF    A    B.I.  535 


"Husband"  without  an  article,  and  the  "in- 
finite relief  of  sincerely  Mrs."  rather  staggered 
my  grammatical  as  well  as  rhetorical  piece  of 
Paninity;  but  though  my  B.X.'s  head  was  inclined 
to  shake,  my  heart  did  flutter  a  little;  and  I  was 
a  mile  and  a  half  from  a  post-office  with  no  im- 
mediately available  means  of  locomotion  other 
than  my  own  pair  of  terminal  facilities.  I  was 
worn  and  tired.  But  this  was  Saturday.  If  I 
wait  even  an  hour  the  mail  would  go,  and  then, 
good-by  help  for  distressed  dame,  at  least  till 
Monday,  and  this  must  in  nowise  be.  Her  letter 
was  dated  May  8,  and  here  it  was  already  May  1 2  ! 

Well,  I  sat  down  and  wrote :  Above  all  not  to  be 
discouraged;  that  God  is  nearer  folk  than  they 
think;  pointed  her  beside  to  a  personal  Christ  if 
she  at  all  knew  him ;  and  enclosed  in  addition  some 
unavoidable  dollars  which,  though  not  directly 
asked  for,  were  here  clearly  a  decided  piece  of 
propriety.  I  had  to  confess,  however,  that  I  was 
a  sufferer  from  a  singular  case  of  heart  disease, 
for  which  there  is  as  yet  no  known  cure :  namely,  a 
most  melancholy  disproportion  between  the  size 
of  heart  and — purse :  the  relation  of  the  two  being 
essentially  that  of  a  pyramid's  base  and  its  top. 
Heart  is  indeed  broad  enough  to  cover  a  goodly 
number  of  square  miles,  but  purse  is  ever  a  kind 
of  pointed  thinness,  with  net  result  of  attending 
chronic  emptiness,  usually  experienced  only  either 
by  a  certain  kind  of  dyspeptics,  or  by  a  certain 
kind  of — scribes,  though  in  the  latter  case  the 
emptiness  is  more  in  the  head  than  elsewhere. 

536  TRIBULATIONS    OF    A   B.I. 

Having  thus  attended  to  the  distressed  dame 
and  walked  to  the  post-office  to  mail  the  letter,  I 
returned  to  the  lone  farm  to  muse.  I  was  indeed 
to  speak  twice  the  next  day,  but  that  distressed 
dame  was  once  upon  my  mind,  and  I  must  have 
her  off  therefrom  ere  aught  else  can  be  done.  So  I 
wrote  to  one  of  Boston's  brave  dames  to  call  on 
her,  enclosing  her  letter;  asking  at  the  same  time 
to  do  what  she  could.  Wrote  in  addition  to 
another  friend,  with  notes  of  introduction  to  two 
Back-Bay  folk  before  whom  the  distressing  case 
might  be  laid;  lastly  I  suggested  to  Mrs.  Panin 
that  perhaps  an  invitation  to  spend  a  week  or  more 
in  the  country  might  be  advisable  to  "Mrs  in- 
finitely relieve  sincerely."  In  that  household  of 
three  (minus  the  absent  traveller)  two  are  indeed 
invalids,  and  the  absent  head  of  the  household  is 
indeed  sorely  missed  because  of  his  dishwashing 
utilities  when  present;  and  an  additional  per- 
sonage in  that  household  would  indeed  be  much 
of  a  burden;  still — it  might  be  worth  while  to 
think  thereof;  so  this  too  was  suggested. 


The  case  then  stood  thus:  Within  a  few  hours 
from  the  receipt  of  her  letter  some  unasked  for 
dollars  were  already  on  their  way;  at  least  three 
well-to-do  lovers  of  their  kind  were  already  writ- 
ten to  about  her ;  a  fourth  personage  was  requested 
to  look  up  both  the  woman  and  her  record,  while  a 
fifth  was  asked  to  consider  the  advisability  of 
giving  her  a  country  home  for  a  brief  period  of 

And  now  I  could  go  on  in  peace  with  my  work. 

TRIBULATIONS    OF   A    B.I.  537 


But  alas !  peace  on  earth  is  not  unstinted  even  to 
poor  B.I.'s,  and  my  tribulations  speedily  began. 
Sunday  I  was  too  busy  to  think  about  the  poor 
distressed  dame.  Monday  I  was  rather  tired. 
Still  both  on  that  day  and  Tuesday  I  went  to  the 
lone  church  on  the  hill  and  commended  her  to 
God,  fearing  especially  a  case  of  suicide. 

But  on  Wednesday  my  tribulations  began  in 
earnest.  My  wag  of  a  host  whose  laughing 
capacity  is  somewhere  in  the  neighborhood  of  a 
ton  to  the  square  inch,  to  whom  I  mentioned  the 
case  when  seeking  advice,  suddenly  asked  me 
that  morning  whether  that  woman  might  not  after 
all  be  a  fraud.  As  he  said  this  he  was  looking  at 
me  through  his  glasses.  I  was  looking  at  him 
through  no  glasses,  but  I  dare  say  my  look  was 
glassy  enough.  But  we  here  parted  our  ways: 
he  to  his  hammer  and  saw,  and  I  to  that  hilltop 
and  its  church. 

From  the  church  I  went  to  the  post  office. 
Four  letters  awaited  me  there.  One  from  a  direc- 
tor of  an  astronomical  observatory;  the  other 
from  *  'infinitely  relieve  sincerely  Mrs:"  the  third 
from  Mrs.  Panin,  the  fourth  from  Boston's  brave 
dame  who  spends  most  of  her  days  in  associated 
charities.  With  my  incurable  heart  disease 
described  above  it  was  difficult  to  delay  the  read- 
ing of  the  infinitely  relief-needing  dame's  letter. 
So  I  read  it  at  once,  and  right  glad  did  it  make  me. 
For  it  read  thuswise : 

May  God  bless  you  for  so  kind  encouraging  helpful 
words   and   acts.     To    be    so   eager   to   give    me   hope 

538  TRIBULATIONS    OP    A   B.I. 

and  relief,  an  entire  stranger  to  you,  as  to  write  me  when 
you  from  travelling  were  so  fatigued,  is  truly  God -like. 

You  state  that  you  have  passed  through  all  kind  of 
depths,  and  so  understand  my  condition,  yet  you  have 
the  strength  to  exhort  me  not  to  despair.  I  am  begin- 
ning to  feel  that  my  afflictions  may  be  benedictions  in 
disguise.  As  a  Unitarian  I  have  not  believed  in 
Christ  as  you  do.  It  may  be  that  my  bitter  ordeal  is 
to  awaken  me  to  the  truth  that  Christ  is  divine,  as  help 
has  come  to  me  in  time  of  bitter  need. 

Infinitely  grateful  am  I  to  you  for  your  generous 
offering  so  unexpected.  I  had  heard  that  your  wife 
was  interested  in  the  study  of  French  and  German,  and 
that  you  had  greatly  interested  yourself  in  a  lady 
conversant  with  these  languages.  Thank  you  heartily 
for  your  thoughtfulness  and  interest.  Trusting  in 
your  wisdom  from  bitter  suffering,  believe  me,  please,  I 
shall  seek  by  prayer  for  light  that  I  may  early  see  the 
truth.  Again  thanking  you  for  so  prompt  and  heart- 
felt a  response,  believe  me  most  gratefully, 


All  the  way  from  the  post-office  to  the  farm- 
house I  kept  thinking  of  this  godsend  of  a  letter. 
How  triumphantly  I  could  now  refute  my  wag  of  a 
host  with  his  doubting  Thomas  of  a  pair  of  glasses ! 
How  I  would  brandish  that  letter  in  his  face,  and 
tell  him  that  it  would  have  been  worth  hundreds 
of  dollars  to  have  thus  the  privilege  of  turning  the 
look  of  that  poor  deluded  Unitarian  soul  to  a 
crucified  and  bleeding  Christ.  I  felt  much  like  a 
glass  of  freshly  drawn  soda  water,  and  could  have 
effervesced  skyward  in  visions  of  magnificent 
Christian  missionary  work  by  means  of  one 
thousand-mile    travelling    bits    of    epistolarities. 

I  had  in  my  triumphant  joy  almost  forgotten 
that  the  other  letters  were  still  unread.     But  not 

TRIBULATIONS    OF    A   B.I.  539 

even  the  astronomical  letter  could  chase  away 
the  hydrogen-balloon  feeling  that  kept  me  as  if 
I  were  screwed  to  a  pair  of  corkish  legs  walking  on 
the  water.  And,  dear  reader,  I  was  for  a  few 
moments  very,  very  happy. 


Suddenly  in  an  evil  moment  I  espied  that 
fourth  letter.  It  was  from  my  hard-headed, 
unromantic,  practical,  twenty-year  manager  in 
the  much-decried  associated  charities  of  Boston, 
who  though  rich  herself  has  the  problematic  habit 
of  looking  twice  at  a  penny  spent  by  her  in 
charity,  even  though  the  amount  reaches  into 
thousands  of  dollars  a  year. 

The  letter  was  prosy  enough  and  rather  dry 
reading.  But  singularly  enough  it  had  the  effect 
of  wetting  me  nearly  all  over.     Here  it  is. 

Mrs.  —  has  been  known  for  many  years  in  district  8  of 
the  associated  charities  as  Mrs.  N.  (another  name  than 
that  given  me).  Her  husband  died  some  years  ago  in 
Sing  Sing  prison. 

She  has  since  lived  with  a  man  of  more  than  doubtful 
character;  she  has  sometimes  called  herself  by  his  name 
but  they  have  never  pretended  to  people  who  really 
know  them  that  they  were  married. 

About  the  time  she  wrote  to  you  she  wrote  to  Rev.  — 
(one  of  Boston's  well-known  B.I.'s)  for  money  to  go  to 
New  York,  so  as  to  attend  to  the  affairs  of  this  man,  who 
she  said  was  ready  to  commit  suicide  because  of  his  busi- 
ness troubles.  I  have  an  impression  that  the  man  told 
our  agent  that  he  wishes  no  more  to  do  with  her,  but  I 
am    not    sure. 

She  really  is  a  relative  of  *  *  *  and  some  of  her  rel- 
atives have  helped  her  through  the  associated  charities. 
Many  efforts  have  been  made  to  help  her  to  a  respec- 
table life.  Her  begging  letters  are  often  sent  to  the 
associated  charities.      Her  story  to  you  is  a  new  one. 


540  TRIBULATIONS    OF    A    B.  I. 


Dear  reader,  B.I.  or  otherwise,  what  with  my 
wag  of  a  host,  what  with  my  prosy,  hardheaded 
correspondent,  and  the  associated  charities,  whom 
years  ago,  before  my  wisdom  teeth  were  grown,  I 
used  to  belabor  rather  vigorously  in  public,  I  feel 
decidedly  crestfallen;  and  I  too  feel  like  ending 
my  letter  with  a  request  for  sympathy  that 
"infinitely  relieve  sincerely"  your  crestfallen 
fellow  B.I. 

To  "Infinitely  Sincerely  Mrs." 
Madame: — 

Since  answering  your  letter  asking  for  help  I  have 
received  three  letters  from  you:  one  asking  for  a  loan 
of  ten  dollars,  to  be  paid  out  for  treatment  of  a  physical 
infirmity  of  yours.  As  I  was  then  not  sure  of  the 
urgency  of  the  case  I  was  waiting  in  silence  for  further 
developments.  The  second  letter  incidentally  in- 
formed me  that  you  were  "through  God's  mercy" 
already  receiving  the  treatment  for  which  you  asked 
the  loan.  The  third  letter  is,  I  am  sorry  to  say,  a  rather 
incoherent  self-defence  against  the  report  of  the 
associated  charities  about  you  as  seen  by  you  from  my 
lettter  to  the  Boston  Newspaper. 

Let  me  then  tell  you  at  once  that  I  am  still  your 
friend.  The  fact  that  you  may  be  untruthful  makes 
you  need  God's  love  all  the  more,  and  whatever  good 
will  I  may  have  for  you  is  only  of  course  a  reflection  of 
what  love  I  know  God  has  for  you.  So,  pray,  do  not 
feel  troubled  about  any  "bad  opinion"  I  may  have  of 
you.  Only  it  is  unfortunate  that  I  simply  cannot  treat 
you  now  with  the  same  trust  that  I  had  about  your  case 
before  doubts  were  raised  about  you  from  the  associ- 
ated charities.  Now  that  you  tell  me  that  you  have 
been  misrepresented  by  them  I  will  gladly  for  your  sake 
suspend  my  judgment,  and  will  assume  for  a  while  that 
there  may  be  some  misunderstanding  about  your  case 
on   their  part.     I   have  indeed  no   reason   to  suppose 

TRIBULATIONS    OF   A   B.I.  541 

that  they  are  likely  to  leave  much  room  for  even  mis- 
understandings in  their  reports  about  individuals  they 
investigate.  But  if  there  be  even  one  chance  in  a 
thousand  that  for  some  cause  their  report  has  done  you 
injustice,  I  am  willing  to  give  you  the  benefit  of  that 
one  chance,  and  on  the  strength  of  that  one  chance 
to  suspend  my  judgment  for  a  while.  You  sure- 
ly must  see  that  more  than  this  it  is  impossible  for  me 
to  do  just  now. 

It  is  unfortunate  that  your  case  needs  investigation, 
but  since  it  does  need  it,  will  you  not  for  a  while  bear 
the  burden  bravely  and  cheerfully?  If  you  are  innocent 
you  surely  need  fear  nothing;  investigation  will  only 
establish  your  innocence  all  the  firmer.  On  the  other 
hand,  if  you  are  guilty  of  having  tried  to  enlist  my  sym- 
pathy by  false  statements,  I  can  only  say  to  you  that 
however  black  you  might  be,  you  would  have  lost 
nothing  and  gained  much,  by  being  perfectly  frank 
with  me  about  your  past,  its  errors,  and  even  sins. 
For  if  in  such  case  you  are  willing  to  mend  your  ways, 
I  would  have  gladly  offered  you  what  help  there  were 
within  my  inextensive  reach.  And  if  you  were  not 
willing,  I  would  have  told  you  plainly  that  neither  man 
nor  angel  can  help  one  that  is  not  willing  to  mend;  and 
this  would  have  saved  us  both  much  trouble. 

From  a  distance  of  a  thousand  miles  it  is  difficult 
to  do  anything  in  such  a  case.  If  you  really  care  for 
my  "better  opinion"  of  you,  I  will  gladly  call  upon  you 
in  all  friendliness  when  I  return  to  Boston  (d.  v.)  and 
cheerfully  hear  whatever  you  may  have  to  state  truth- 
fully about  your  case.  I  hope  that  you  will  not  be  a- 
fraid  to  tell  me  even  the  worst  about  yourself,  if  there 
be  anything  bad,  provided  you  are  really  desirous  of  put- 
ting it  away.  I  will  listen  not  only  without  condemna- 
tion, but  even  with  sympathy.  Only  be  perfectly  frank 
with  me.  If  you  are  not  frank  it  will  come  out  sooner  or 
later,  and  this  will  of  course,  make  all  further  inter- 
course impossible. 

I  do  not  expect  to  be  in  Boston  for  some  weeks.  If 
such  suspense  is  a  trial  to  you,  you  may  write  me  if  this 
is  any  satisfaction  to  you. 



Having  occasion  to  verify  tlie  statements  of  a 
writer  about  eclipses  I  betook  myself  to  Camille 
Flammarion's  chapter  on  Eclipses  in  his "  Wonders 
of  the  Heavens;"  translated  by  Mrs.  Norman 
Lockyer.  Of  the  scientific  standing  of  the  author, 
and  the  translator's  husband  there  is  no  need  of 
saying  aught.  It  is  of  the  highest.  The  attain- 
ments of  the  translator  herself,  being  the  mate, 
evidently  the  scientific  mate,  of  Mr.  Lockyer,  are 
presumably  also  high.  So  with  great  reverence  I 
turned  to  the  fifth  chapter  of  the  fourth  book, 
with  pencil  in  hand,  to  mark  everything  that  is 
worth  remembering  about  eclipses. 

The  first  statement  that  surprised  me  was  this : 
Eclipses  '  'return  nearly  in  the  same  order  at  the 
end  of  eighteen  years  and  ten  days,  a  period 
known  to  the  Greeks  under  the  name  of  the 
Metonic  Cycle."  Without  being  an  astronomer 
I  happened  to  know  that  this  eclipse  period  consist- 
ed of  223  months,  and  was  called  the  Saros, 
whereas  the  Metonic  Cycle  consisted  of  235 
months  and  its  length  is  not  eighteen  years  and 
eleven  days,  but  some  two  hours  over  nine- 
teen years.  Ignorant  folk  naturally  confound  the 
two  periods;  and  it  is  for  such  that  Denison 
Olmstead,  writing  his  Astronomical  Letters  as 
far  back  as  1840,  puts  in  this  warning;  "The 
Metonic  Cycle  has  sometimes  been  confounded 


with  the  Saros,  but  it  is  not  the  same  with  it;  nor 
was  the  period  used,  like  the  Saros  for  foretelling 
eclipses,  but  for  ascertaining  the  age  of  the  moon 
at  any  given  period. "     (p .  1 9  2 ) . 

Here  then,  is  a  distinction  in  an  elementary 
matter  of  astronomy  with  which  an  ordinarily 
educated  man  is  supposed  to  be  familiar  found 
to  be  unknown  to  scientists  like  Flammarion  and 
Mrs.  Norman  Lockyer. 

Well,  after  all,  this  might  be  a  slip  of  the  pen  on 
Mr.  Flammarion's  part,  and  a  slip  of  the  eye  on 
Mrs.  Lockyer's  part  in  overlooking  it  when  trans- 
lating the  passage.  So  I  paid  but  little  attention 
thereto,  all  the  more  as  I  had  just  marked  with 
intense  eagerness  the  sentence  immediately  pre- 
ceding. !  'There  cannot  be  less  than  two  eclipses 
a  year  and  not  more  than  seven.  When  there 
are  only  two  they  are  both  eclipses  of  the  Moon." 
Here  was  something  I  clung  to:  when  there  are 
only  two  they  are  both  of  the  Moon.  I  had  been 
unacquainted  with  this  fact  about  eclipses,  that 
there  may  be  a  year  when  no  Solar  eclipse  can  take 
place.  This  fact  I  was  eager  to  hold  fast,  because 
it  has  a  bearing  upon  the  chronology  of  years 
which  have  .been  fixed  by  the  record  of  eclipses 
in  ancient  writers.  Thankful  over  this  important 
fact,  I  was  ready  enough  to  be  very  charitable 
about  that  Saros  turning  into  a  Metonic  Cycle. 

It  happens  however,  that  the  article  !  'Astron- 
omy" in  the  Encyclopedia  Britannica  is  written 
by  an  astronomer  of  equally  high  repute  with 
Flammarion,  namely  R.  A.  Proctor.  The  article, 
which  is  really  a  treatise  on  Astronomy,  has  a 


chapter,  the  nth,  given  to  eclipses.  It  would,  of 
course,  be  unscholarly  not  to  read  this  chapter 
also,  as  long  as  I  am  in  search  of  facts  about  eclip- 
ses. Near  the  end  of  the  chapter,  Mr.  Proctor 
tells  us,  after  giving  a  very  elaborate  account  of 
eclipse-seasons,  "when  there  are  only  two,  each 
eclipse  is  solar  and  central." 

As  the  writer — well  I  may  as  well  go  back  to  the 
first  person — as  I  always  preached  the  scientific 
method  even  when  the  question  came  up  what  to 
do  with  a  man  who  asked  you  for  something  to  get 
bread  with,  I  was — well,  to  put  it  mildly,  aston- 
ished enough  when  I  found  these  two  astronomical 
giants  encamped  against  one  another  about  a 
simple  matter  of  fact  which  can  be  decided  at  any 
moment  by  reference  to  the — almanac.  A  priori 
it  was  impossible  to  tell  who  blundered  here, 
the  Frenchman  or  the  Englishman:  on  Flam- 
marion's  side  was  Mrs.  Norman  Lockyer  who 
evidently  upheld  the  original  which  she  trans- 
lated. On  Proctor's  side  was  the  great  weight 
of  the  Encyclopedia  Britannica.  It  was  indeed 
quite  humiliating  to  have  to  go  to  the  proverbially 
put-away  last  year's  almanac,  for  information 
of  which  the  Encyclopedia  Britannica,  R.  A. 
Proctor,  Camille  Flammarion,  and  Mrs.  Norman 
Lockyer  are  close  at  hand.  Still,  to  the  almanac 
I  went.  But,  alas,  last  year's  almanacs  are  not 
commodities  of  which  the  supply  and  demand  per- 
form those  see-saw  movements  to  which  econo- 
mists have  given  the  name  of  law.  Supply  is 
here  plentiful  enough,  indeed,  but  the  demand 
being  somewhat  zeroish  here,  the  exact  locality 
of  supply  becomes  more  or  less  problematic  and 
it  was  only  after  some  researches  in  the  archives 


of  a  patent  medicine  manufacturer  that  an 
almanac  for  1893  was  at  last  found — a  year  which 
had  only  two  eclipses;  and  these,  says  the  al- 
manac, were  both  of  the  Sun,  March  15th,  and 
October  9th.  In  the  court,  then,  of  Mr.  School- 
boy's information,  the  celebrated  astronomer, 
Mr.  Camille  Flammarion,  plus  Mrs.  Norman 
Lockyer,  was  found  guilty  of  an  ordinary  dic- 
tionary blunder.  And  in  the  court  of  Last 
Year's  Almanac  with  R.  A.  Proctor  and  En- 
cyclopedia Britannica  as  plaintiffs,  he  is  found 
guilty  with  his  assistant,  Mrs.  Lockyer,  of  an — 
astronomical  blunder. 

The  surprise,  I  confess,  was  not  a  pleasant  one. 
To  find  a  celebrated  scientist  to  be  after  all  only 
a  mere  blunderer  even  in  his  own  special  field,  does 
not  tend  to  strengthen  one's  faith  in  the  accuracy 
of  scientific  men;  it  rather  places  them  among  the 
class  of  men  not  unjustly  despised  by  them: 
theologians  and  poets,  not  unjustly  if  you  once 
grant  them  that  scientific  men  are  naturally  only 
men  of  facts,  and  not  of  theories. 

Still  Mr.  Flammarion  is  only  one  of  hundreds : 
and  even  the  Sun  has  its  spots,  so  one  black  sheep 
might  reasonably  be  expected  among  the  many 
white  sheep  men  of  science.  Mr.  Proctor,  then, 
having  been  found  trustworthy  as  over  against 
black-sheepish  Flammarion,  I  concluded  to  take 
up  for  study  his  work  called  "  Light  Science  for 
Leisure  Hours." 

Of  leisure  hours  I  indeed  had  next  to  none; 
but  I  was  desirous  to  learn  all  I  could  about  Eclip- 
ses; and  the  Essay  in  that  book  on  "Our-Chief- 


Time-Piece  losing  Time"  looked  promising.  So 
with  pencil  in  hand  I  set  out  to  read  this  paper. 
The  explanations  of  the  motions  of  the  earth  here 
are  highly  interesting,  and  the  pencil  was  kept 
busily  marking,  until,  until — well,  you  see,  he  got 
to  talking  about  old  Xenophon  and  his  Anabasis. 
Now  I  well  remember  the  porings  over  that  book 
in  my  preparation-for-college  days.  And  Mr. 
Proctor's  words  set  me  a  thinking.  For  Mr. 
Proctor  says:  "Mr.  Layard  has  indentified  the 
site  of  Larissa  with  the  modern  Nimrod.  Now 
Xenophon  relates  that  when  Larissa  was  besieged 
by  the  Persians  an  eclipse  of  the  Sun  took  place 
so  remarkable  in  its  effects  (and  therefore  un- 
doubtedly total)  that  the  Median  defenders  of  the 
town  threw  down  their  arms,  and  the  city  was 
accordingly  captured.  And  Hansen  has  shown 
that  a  certain  estimate  of  the  moon's  motion 
makes  the  eclipse  which  occurred  on  August  1 5  th, 
310  B.C.  not  only  total  but  central  at  Nimrod." 

The  calculation  of  this  eclipse,  the  reader  must 
now  be  told,  is  an  important  element  in  the 
"proof"  that  there  is  such  a  thing  as  acceleration 
of  the  Moon. 

What  struck  me  here  first  was  that  there  is 
evidently  here  a  misprint  of  310  for  510,  since  in 
310  Xenophon  was  already  dead;  had  been  dead 
for  some  fifty  years ;  and  5 10  is  about  the  right  date 
for  the  battle  mentioned  above.  Now,  a  misprint 
in  a  date  is  always  unfortunate ;  in  the  calculation 
of  an  eclipse  for  the  purpose  of  proving  an  astron- 
omical theory  it  is  doubly  so.  Still,  misprints  are 
what  may  be  called  by  poetic,  though  not  by 
scientific  license,  "an  unforeseen  accident."  But 
on  turning  to  Xenophon  (and  as  Mr.  Proctor  gives 


no  reference,  I  had  to  be  looking  for  a  pin  in  a  load 
of  hay)  Book  3,  chapter  4,  I  find  Xenophon's 
words  as  follows:  "The  sun,  obscured  by  a  cloud 
disappeared,   and  the  darkness  continued.' ' 

Now  the  longest  possible  time  for  a  total  eclipse 
is  five  minutes ;  three  minutes  is  its  ordinary 
length.  The  continuance  of  the  darkness,  if  Mr. 
Proctor  had  read  the  passage,  should  have  already 
warned  the  celebrated  astronomer  that  perhaps 
Xenophon  is  dealing  here  with  something  else  than 
an  eclipse.  But  Xenophon's  words  are  "obscured 
by  a  cloud."  We  are  all  familiar  with  a  piece  of 
protoplasm  in  the  mud  becoming  evolved  by  a 
newly  discovered  (in  the  scientist's  imagination) 
scientific  law  into  say — a  celebrated  physiologist. 
But  no  imagination,  scientific  or  otherwise,  has  yet 
ventured  to  soar  to  a  height  (or  is  it  a  depth?) 
where  an  ordinary  cloud  becomes  transformed 
into  a  solar  eclipse  by  which  the  acceleration  of 
the  moon  is  proved. 

The  upshot  of  my  perusal  of  this  essay  in  "Lei- 
sure Hours"  was  that  even  Mr.  Proctor  has  hardly 
a  better  claim  upon  my  leisure  hours  than  Mr. 
Flammarion  in  matters  where  the  strictest  possible 
accuracy  is  required,  in  other  words,  in  science 
truly  so  called  as  distinct  from  science  falsely  so 

Discouraging  as  these  experiences  were  with 
two  men  of  science  (really  a  kind  of  two  and  a 
half,  if  we  add  Mrs.  Lockyer)  there  seemed  as  yet 
no  sufficient  reason  why  I  should  give  up  my 
search  for  information  about  eclipses,  even  if 
another  black  sheep  has  to  be  added  to  the  one 
already  found.     So   I   concluded  to  get  my  in- 


formation  at  first  hand;  that  is,  I  started  out  to 
make  a  list  of  all  the  eclipses  that  are  recorded 
as  having  been  observed  on  certain  days.  I 
turned  to  Appleton's  Annual  Cyclopedia,  to  find 
for  each  year  its  noteworthy  eclipses. 

For  1868,  the  article  "Astronomy"  tells  me 
that  on  August  17th  there  was  a  great  total  eclipse 
of  the  Sun  in  India;  and  that  some  folk  from 
England  actually  journeyed  and  voyaged  some 
thousands  of  miles  to  get  a  peep  at  the  Sun  for 
some  three  minutes  of  time.  Out  comes  notebook 
and  pencil;  and  down  is  put:  "Solar  Eclipse,  Aug- 
ust 17th,  1868."  But  alas,  the  path  of  the  true 
lover  (even  if  only  of  eclipses)  is  far  from  smooth. 
For  I  had  hardly  written  down  August  17th,  when 
I  read  further  in  the  letter  of  the  observer,  who 
speaks  of  it  as  having  occurred  on  the  morning  of 
the  1 8th.  This  time  it  was  the  rubber  that  had 
to  come  out  instead  of  the  pencil;  but  alas!  my 
hand  was  stayed.  Who  was  right  here  anyhow? 
The  observer  or  the  reporter?  Again  I  had  to 
leave  the  Annual  Cyclopedia  and  go  back  to  the 
Cast-off  last  year's  Almanac.  The  eclipse  proved 
to  have  been  on  the  18th  and  the  almanac  became 
once  more  an  exalted  thing  in  my  eyes.  But  as  to 
the  Annual  Cyclopedia — its  score  of  volumes 
became  useless  to  me  in  this  inquiry,  since  I  never 
could  feel  sure  again  that  there  isn't  some  error 
in  its  dates,  however  numerous  the  dates  given. 

Flammarion     (plus     Mrs.     Lockyer)     Proctor, 
Annual   Cyclopedia — I   had   to  lay  them  aside. 
However   valuable   for   their   purposes — for   my 


special  purpose  they  became  just  so  much  waste 
paper.  Only  waste  paper  could  not  have  beguiled 
me  to  spend  my  time  thereon,  but  these  men  and 
that  thing  by  their  pretence  did.  Still  I  kept 
on.  There  is  the  Encyclopedia  Britannica,  the 
arsenal  whence  all  the  Goliaths  draw  their 
weapons  in  their  challenges  of  the  superstitions  of 
the  Davids.  Its  article  on  astronomy  had  already 
done  me  good  service  in  setting  me  on  my  guard 
against  black-sheepish  Flammarion.  And  surely, 
whither  could  I  fly  from  the  treacherous  errors 
of  the  Annual,  if  not  to  the  Britannica? 

Behold  then  the  Eclipse  searcher  going  forth 
through  its  pages  in  quest  of  the  eclipses  enumera- 
ted therein.  Quickly  then  with  pencil  and  note- 
book, for  here  volume  2,  p.  788,  is  a  total  solar 
eclipse  for  June  18th,  i860. 

All  the  way  from  the  library  to  my  house  I  was 
munching,  so  to  speak,  this  my  find  of  an  eclipse 
for  June  18,  i860.  I  was  very  happy  therewith, 
for  nowhere  else  is  this  particular  eclipse  recorded.  * 
But  my  joy  was  only  brief;  for  coming  home  and 
looking  over  some  other  data  in  comparison  with 
the  new,  I  found  that  by  no  manner  of  means  could 
an  eclipse  be  June  18th,  i860.  The  heavens 
would  first  have  to  be  torn  asunder;  while  all  is 
natural  enough  with  the  eclipse  on  July  18th, 
where  the  cast-away  almanac  rightly  places  it. 

Of  course  my  cast-off  almanacs  rose  in  value 
thereafter  with  the  buoyancy  of  a  Wall  street 
bull-market.  But  the  Encyclopedia  Britannica, 
the  great  Britannica,  in  the  one  thing  alone  I 
needed  it,  proved  about  as  worthless  as  friends 
Flammarion,  plus  Mrs.  Lockyer,  and  Proctor  and 
the  Annual  Cyclopedia. 



The  defection  of  the  Britannica,  Britannica  the 
Great,  was  a  blow  to  my  eclipsical  ambition. 
Must  I  then  in  very  deed  begin  life  over  again, 
and  become  a  special  student  of  Astronomy  in 
order  to  be  able  to  verify  a  single  statement  I  find 
in  my  reading?  For  it  was  with  this  that  I  had 
started.  The  Germans  say,  Alter  guten  Dinge 
sind  Drei:  We  never  know  the  true  value  of  a 
thing  until  we  have  given  it  three  trials.  I  had 
tried  Appleton's;  I  had  tried  the  Britannica;  there 
was  still  one  encyclopedia  I  had  not  tried.  So  I 
concluded  to  try  Johnson's  Cyclopedia. 

The  new  edition  of  this  work  is  superior  to  its 
first  edition.  Its  astronomical  articles  are  gen- 
erally by  Simon  Newcomb,  who  is  justly  esteemed 
as  having  no  superior  as  a  practical  astronomer. 
And  indeed  his  article  on  Eclipses  is  far  superior  in 
its  treatment  to  anything  I  had  hitherto  met  in  my 

Among  the  things  I  carried  off  from  this  article 
in  that  Cyclopedia  was  that  the  length  of  the  mean 
Synodical  month  was  29  days,  12  hours,  43  min- 
utes, 57  seconds.  Here  was  a  veritable  feast  for 
me.  In  all  my  previous  calculations  I  had  used  a 
month  six  seconds  longer.  The  difference  is 
enough  to  affect  seriously  the  calculation  of 
eclipses,  especially  those  of  say,  two  thousand 
years  ago.  As  this  Cyclopedia  was  dated  in  the 
last  decade  of  the  19th  century,  it  surely  gave  the 
latest  known  data;  and  this  correction  of  six 
seconds  seemed  an  invaluable  find. 

The  glee  with  which  I  pocketed  this  piece  of 
information  can  be  likened  only  to  that  of  Frank- 
lin when  he  came  home  with  his  whistle.     But 


Franklin's  glee  was,  as  we  all  know,  shortlived 
enough.  And  alas!  so  also  was  mine.  After 
going  through  numerous  figurings  of  all  sorts, 
I  wrote  in  an  evil  moment  some  inquiry  to  the 
United  States  Naval  Observatory,  and  mentioned 
Professor  Newcomb's  value  of  the  month.  In  reply 
came  the  following  statement  from  the  director 
of  the  observatory:  "The  value  you  quote  from 
Johnson's  Cyclopedia  is  erroneous.  I  asked  Pro- 
fessor Newcomb  about  it,  and  he  says  it  is  due  to 
some  mistake  that  he  cannot  explain." 

Reader,  when  the  Greek  artist  wished  to  show 
forth  the  utmost  intensity  of  pain  he  represented 
the  sufferer's  face  as — hidden.  To  express  it  was 
beyond  his  art ;  so  he  left  it  to  the  imagination  of 
each  to  picture  it  to  himself.  My  astonishment, 
my  dismay  on  reading  this  letter — bombshell, 
thunder  clap  from  clear  sky,  go  to  the  dictionary 
and  gather  all  such  descriptions:  and  a  goodly 
baker's  dozen  of  them  Strang  together  may  give 
you  a  hint  for  the  picture  you  may  form  of  my 
poor  condition.  I  have  ever  since  been  going 
about  much  like  a  dog  who  has  just  had  a  sound 
beating,  and  in  my  innerest  innermost  I  feel 
singularly  crestfallen. 


The  above  was  all  written  out.  In  another  evil 
moment  I  sent  it  to  Simon  Newcomb  himself  to 
read  it  over.     His  reply  is  as  follows: 

"I  have  glanced  over  your  'Tribulations'  with 
much  interest.  You  do  not  make  sufficient 
allowance  for  the  difficulty  of  excluding  all  errors 
from  exact  astronomical  statements.  So  far,  as- 
tronomers have  no  more  succeeded  in  doing  this 


than  policemen  have  in  keeping  burglars  out  of  a 
city.  It  is  a  very  good  thing  to  have  them  hunted 
up  and  pointed  out  as  you  have  done,  but  for  every 
one  you  run  down  a  new  one  will  come  in  the 

I  hardly  know  whether  to  take  you  seriously 
when  you  speak  of  Flammarion  and  Proctor  as 
eminent  astronomers.  It  is  not  to  be  expected 
that  the  public  should  be  able  to  distinguish 
between  a  working  astronomer  and  a  popular 
writer  on  astronomy;  but  you  seem  to  have 
reached  a  stage  in  which  the  difference  should  be 
perceptible.  You  measure  the  productions  of 
these  writers  by  altogether  too  exact  a  standard. 

Why  should  a  popular  writer,  or  the  translator 
of  a  popular  book,  distinguish  between  the  Met- 
onic  Cycle  and  the  Saros  ?  It  makes  no  difference 
to  the  public  which  name  you  call  them  by,  and 
they  write  for  the  public.' ' 

And  now  I  am  more  crestfallen  than  ever. 

To  Professor  Wm.  Harkness 

Director  of  the  Observatory  at  Washington, 
D.  C. 

My  temper  has  always  been  what  I  must  desig- 
nate as  scientific,  and  though  brought  up  in  a 
strictly  religious  land  I  became  an  agnostic  early, 
and  remained  one  till  about  ten  years  ago.  Now 
I  am  an  evangelical  Christian,  who  does  not 
shrink  from  accepting  even  the  verbal  inspiration 
of  the  Scriptures.  And  yet,  all  the  while,  I  have 
not  for  a  moment  given  up  the  demand  upon 
myself  as  well  as  upon  others  for  most  exact 
scientific  methods  in  investigation.     The  reason 


I  wrote  out  that  account  of  the  Eclipse  Investiga- 
tion (which  you  are  good  enough  to  say  you  have 
read  "with  a  good  deal  of  amusement")  was  that 
it  was  to  me  very  instructive,  and  was  written 
with  anything  but  amusement  to  myself.  I  am 
now  forty-four  years  old;  but  having  been  a  hermit 
for  the  last  ten  years  I  have  really  lived  in  the 
world  only  some  thirty  brief  years.  But  I  had 
all  along  been  led  to  suppose  that  it  is  only  babies, 
women,  metaphysicians,  theologians  and  poli- 
ticians who  make  a  specialty  of  loving  the  scientific 
method  when  they  look  at  it  with  their — backs. 
That  eclipse  experience  has  taught  me  (and  it 
was  for  poor  me  a  rather  bitter  lesson)  that 
even  scientific  men  will  also  bear  the  strictest 
watching.  Since  then,  my  mind  being  once  open 
to  that  conviction — I  have  found  this  true  in 
some  astounding  instances.  In  looking  up  Op- 
poltzer's  Kanon  der  Finsternisse,  of  which  you 
speak,  in  the  Boston  Public  Library,  I  came  across 
another  publication  by  the  same  scientific  Acad- 
emy which  published  the  Kanon,  in  which  booklet 
the  scientific  author  undertakes  in  all  seriousness 
to  "calculate"  the  eclipses  named  in  the  Bible 
(I  quote  the  details  from  memory  of  about  four 
years  ago.)  One  of  the  eclipses  for  which  he  gives 
the  exact  moment  is  from  Genesis  15:  12,  13. 
"And  when  the  sun  was  going  down,  a  deep  sleep 
fell  upon  Abram,  and  lo,  an  horror  of  great 
darkness  fell  upon  him."  This,  the  author  says, 
was  surely  an  eclipse  of  the  sun,  and  then  he 
calculates  it,  and  establishes  thereby  the  exact 
date  of  the  occurrence.  And  a  whole  Academy 
(of.  which  for  aught  I  know  you  and  Professor 
Newcomb   may   be   honored  members)    actually 


sits  down  and  deliberately  votes  it  to  be  printed 
among  its  own  memoirs   .    .    ; 

The  above  is  only  one  of  several  performances 
of  that  kind.  The  Larissa  Eclipse,  concerning 
which  you  express  a  fear  that  I  have  gone  astray, 
is  fully  on  par  with  that  kind  of  "work."  The 
largeness  of  literature  thereon,  which  you  think 
an  argument  for  its  genuineness,  would  only  show 
that  astronomical  snowballs  also  increase  the  more 
they  are  rolled.  Though  in  deference  to  your 
doubt  I  will  go  over  the  ground  again. 

You  may  not  have  heard  that  some  one  once 
undertook  to  calculate  seriously  the  ' 'eclipse' ' 
which  occurred  at  the  Crucifixion.  The  Greek 
in  Luke  "  rov  r/Xiov  eKXeinovros"  is  the  tech- 
nical expression  for  eclipses,  though  literally  it 
simply  means,  "the  sun  failing."  But  after  a 
great  deal  of  labor  the  calculator  had  to  learn  at 
last  that  the  narrative  places  the  Crucifixion 
on  the  15th  of  the  lunar  month,  and  therefore 
at — full  moon!* 

Kepler  is,  of  course,  an  astronomical  giant. 
Well,  Matthew  in  his  second  chapter  speaks  of  a 
star,  a3rr/p}  going  before  the  magi,  not  asrpov, 
constellation.  But  Kepler  labored  hard  and 
proved  that  a  remarkable  conjunction  of  some 
three  bodies  took  place  around  Bethlehem  about 
B.C.  7.  (Matthew  says  the  star  went  before  the 
magi  some  distance.)  Ludwig  Ideler,  royal 
astronomer  at  Berlin  in  1825,  and  as  fine  a 
scholar  as  well  as  astronomer  as  ever  lived 
(perhaps  the  only  rare  combination  of  the  two) 
whose  handbook  on  chronology  is  a  classic,  went 

*An  eclipse  of  the  sun  can  take  place  only  at  new 


over  the  whole  matter  after  Kepler  and  agress 
with  him  that  this  is  most  probably  the  "explana- 
tion" of  Matthew;  though  the  plain  meaning  of 
the  Greek  is  as  if,  when  you  sign  yourself  Wm. 
Harkness  I  should  set  about  to  prove  by  calcula- 
tion that  you  really  signed  it  Phineas  Tomstick. 
Ideler  thus  with  Kepler  sets  the  birth  of  Christ 
in  7  B.C.  Here  are  two  great  astronomers 
settled  on  a  date,  one  of  whom  is  a  profound  schol- 
ar in  addition:  settled  by  means  of  the  whole 
apparatus  of  calculations,  conjunctions,  and  what 
not.  But  Ideler  adds  that  the  conjunction  was 
vSuch  (a  moon's  diameter  separating  two  of  the 
conjuncting  bodies!)  that  a  person  with  weak  eyes 
would  see  them  as  one  star.  Now  I  am  only  a  plain 
man,  and  my  eyes,  Heaven  knows,  are  weak 
enough.  But  thank  God,  my  head  is  not  yet 
weak  enough  not  to  rebel  at  once  against  three 
magi  being  suddenly  struck  with  weak  eyes  to 
see  planets  a  moon's  diameter  apart  as  one.  But 
I  am  only  a  plain  man,  and  even  strength  of  head 
would  count  here  but  little  against  giant  astron- 
omers. But  Mr.  Prit chard,  who  happens  to  be  an 
astronomer,  also  rebelled,  or  rather  his  suspicions 
were  aroused  by  that  unlucky  weak-eyes  remark. 
Accordingly,  he  recalculated  the  whole,  and  he 
now  shows  conclusively  that  while  Kepler  and 
Ideler  are  right  about  the  conjunctions,  the  road 
from  Jerusalem  to  Bethlehem  is  such  that  much 
of  the  way  the  planets  must  have  been  behind 
the  magi  instead  of  going  before  them,  as  Matthew 
expressly  says  it  did. 

I  have  studied  Ideler  faithfully,  lovingly,  be- 
cause he  is  a  classic;  his  work  is  beautifully  done. 
But  even  he — needed  watching. 



Knowing  as  I  do  human  nature,  the  next  thing 
to  expect  is  that  some  archeologist  will  make  the 
discovery  that  the  road  from  Jerusalem  to 
Bethlehem  was  originally  such  that  the  planets 
were  before  the  magi  all  along  the  way. 

Taxes,  corporations,  and  "scientific"  errors 
never  die,  however  often  buried. 


December  24th. 


To-day  there  are  two  funerals  in  our  village 
of  some  1500  souls;  the  first  is  directly  across 
the  street.  A  year  ago,  about  this  time,  we  were 
all  startled  to  see  in  mid-winter  a  force  of  men 
go  to  work  to  shingle,  to  put  on  a  piazza,  and 
more  of  the  like  carpenters'  work,  out  of  doors 
and  in  zero  weather.  Mr.  Dockwell  had  sold 
his  place  in  the  valley,  about  a  mile  from  here, 
where  he  had  been  prosperously  farming  it  for 
years,  and  keeping  boarders  in  the  summer. 
The  neighboring  millionaire  who  had  been  wishing 
to  round  out  his  estate,  offered  him  ten  thousand 
dollars  for  his  farm  of  some  fifty  acres.  It  was 
a  godsend  to  the  farmer  and  his  hard-working 
wife.  On  the  income  of  ten  thousand  dollars 
the  rest  of  their  days  could  be  spent  in  comparative 
ease.  So  the  farm  was  sold,  and  this  house  on 
the  hill  bought  for  their  last  home;  the  house 
itself  had  already  had  its  owp.  tragedy.  Thirty 
years  ago  it  became  the  home  of  one  of  the  two 
grocers  in  town.  He  prospered,  accumulated. 
Became  duly  selectman,  trustee  of  savings  bank, 
and  the  rest.  Then  one  thing  after  another 
began  to  go  amiss.  A  slight  disagreement  with 
his  landlord,  who  owned  the  only  available  spot 
for  a  second  grocery-store  ended  in  his  having 


to  seek  a  new,  inconvenient  place.  The  business 
went  down.  Then  he  went  into  the  lumber 
business  at  great  expense ;  and  ere  long  he  had  the 
experience  which  he  at  first  lacked,  and  his 
customers  whom  he  had  to  trust,  had  the  money. 
Then  he  began  to  speculate  in  stocks.  Here  too, 
after  a  while,  a  very  brief  while,  he  had  the 
experience,  and  the  bucket  shop  keeper  had  the 
money.  At  home  also  things  were  going  wrong; 
wife,  the  combination  of  Eve  and  Xantippe; 
son,  the  only  son,  a  trial  as  well  as  constant 
financial  drain  because  of  his  unexpected  esca- 
pades. And  it  all  ended  in  the  man  being  found 
dead  by  his  wife  one  morning  in  the  loft  of  his 
barn — by  hanging.  .  .  .  The  well-kept  place 
assessed  for  $5,000  was  sold  to  any  one  who 
would  take  it  quickly.  The  widow  could  not 
stay  there,  and  would  not  if  she  could.  It  fell 
into  the  hands  of  a  peddler,  to  whom  it  was 
knocked  down  at  auction  for  less  than  $2,000; 
and  he  promptly  plowed  up  the  fine  lawns,  planted 
it  with  potatoes,  raspberries;  poultry  began  to 
scratch  up  not  only  the  few  acres  of  the  place 
itself,  but  also  the  neighbors'  lawns.  After  some 
six  years  of  unsightliness  and  neglect,  the  owners 
found  themselves  unable  to  keep  the  place.  And 
Mr.  Dockwell  in  the  nick  of  time  took  it  off  their 
hands  for  some  $3,000. 

And  now  in  the  middle  of  the  winter  he  under- 
took to  tear  out  the  insides  and  rebuild  the  house 
with  all  the  modern  improvements;  steam  heat, 
electric  lights,  modern  plumbing,  ba,th  rooms; 
so  as  to  make  it  attractive  the  very  next  summer  for 
— summer  boarders 

The  poor  wife  cried ....  all  to  herself  however — 

IN    A    NEW    ENGLAND    HILLTOWN  559 

bitterly,  when  she  saw  the  havoc  wrought  with 
what  she  had  come  into  as  her — home.  The 
confusion  lasted  for  months :  not  until  May  was 
the  house  done;  but  this  was  the  least  of  the 
trouble.  She  had  worked  hard  all  the  best  years 
of  her  life,  as  only  a  New  England's  thrifty 
farmer's  wife  can  work;  all  for  the  sake  of  a 
comfortable  rest  in  her  advanced  years.  And 
here  the  advanced  years  were  upon  them;  both 
in  the  latter  sixties,  and  it  was  all  to  begin  over 
again;  boarders,  cows,  a  horse,  small  fruits,  and 
the  never-ending  chores. 

But  even  this  was  not  all.  Her  husband  was 
afflicted  with  severe  asthma.  His  coughing  had 
been  keeping  awake  at  least  one  of  his  neighbors ; 
and  I  myself,  though  some  300  feet  away  from 
his  house,  had  often  heard  that  never-heard-before 
hollow  metallic  cough,  cough,  cough,  which 
lasted  at  times  for  minutes  at  a  time.  She  well 
knew  that  he  might  choke  any  day  to  death,  and 
yet  over  half  of  the  money  got  for  the  farm  went 
into  the  house,  some  $7,000  in  fact.  The  good 
woman  thought  and  wept ;  and  wept  and  thought, 
but  never  a  word  to  her  husband,  only  a  whisper 
now  and  then  to  a  sympathetic  neighbor.  And 
thus  things  went  on  since  May.  Boarders  came, 
at  ten,  twelve  dollars  a  week.  It  was  hard,  hard 
work — for  the  woman.  Part  of  the  house  could 
fortunately  be  rented.  All,  at  last,  began  to  go 
well.  She  had  become  used  to  the  new  situation, 
the  husband  kept  busy;  and  with  the  exceotion 
of  that  resounding  metallic  cough,  cough,  cough, 
otherwise  quite  satisfied  and  well.  Sunday  he 
went  to  the  city  to  a  brother-in-law,  who  never 
saw  him  so  well  as  then.     Tuesday,  however,  he 


was  suddenly  taken  ill.  He  had  been  chilled  on 
the  way.  The  valley  physician  when  sent  for 
was  not  in.  The  hill  physician  came,  prescribed, 
expecting  the  valley  physician  to  come  during 
the  night.  The  latter,  learning  that  the  hill 
physician  had  already  been  there,  expected  him 
to  come  during  the  night.  Thus  neither  came 
until  the  morning,  just  in  time  for  both  being 
able  to  pronounce  him— dead.  And  so  the 
funeral  is  to-day  at  one,  and  I  am  watching  it. 
By  a  strange  fatality,  the  only  time  in  the  history 
of  the  town  when  there  are  two  different  funerals 
on  the  same  day  (a  father  and  his  daughter  were 
once  buried  on  the  same  day,  but  from  the  same 
house  and  at  the  same  time)  the  regular  under- 
taker gets  neither.  This  one  is  in  charge  of  the 
city  undertaker,  eight  miles  away.  And  so  here 
they  are:  the  hearse,  and  six  coaches.  The 
sixth  is  being  sent  back,  as  two  relatives  who 
came  from  a  neighboring  town  in  their  own 
team,  are  going  back  therein,  and  this  coach  is 
for  them.  So  off  they  start;  the  hearse  black, 
with  black  horses,  drivers  in  black;  five  coaches, 
all  uniform,  black,  with  black  horses,  well- 
groomed,  sleek;  everything  comme  il  faut — a  fine 
procession;  but  the  procession  winds  up  with 
two  persons  in  a  buggy,  with  brown  robe,  and  a 

white  thin  horse,  with  its  ribs  in  sight 

I  went  over  this  morning  across  the  way  to 
the  widow  to  bring  her  just  one  word  of  cheer, 
and  I  found  her  hanging  out  her  clothes  on  the 
washline.  A  sister  from  some  distance  who  had 
come  to  the  funeral  was  inside  at  the  wash-tub. 
And  on  the  whole  it  was  the  wisest  as  well  as 
the  bravest  thing  to  do:    on  Christmas,  on  the 

IN   A    NEW    ENGLAND    HILLTOWN  561 

morrow  of  her  life-mate's  funeral,  to  keep  right 
on  at  work ....  She  had  been  expecting  such  an 
end  for  years,  yet  when  it  came,  as  is  nearly 
always  the  case  thus,  the  shock  was  just  as  if 
the  event  had  never  been  expected. 

She  stretched  out  her  hands  to  me  with  tears. 
"  I  suppose  it  is  all  for  the  best,"  she  said.  "  God 
knows  what  is  best." 

A  neighbor  whispers:  "  To  think  that  that 
man  should  spend  so  much  on  that  house  in  his 
condition !  His  poor  wife  will  have  to  sell  the 
house  at  a  sacrifice,"  and  more  of  the  like.  The 
wife,  doubtless,  now  and  then  thinks  the  same; 
but  never  a  word  of  complaint  shall  pass  her 
lips.  And  her  grief  is  genuine.  And  the  washline 
is  the  real  answer  now  to  every  problem 

The  ultra  religious  see  even  here  a  case  very 
much  like  that  of  the  prosperous  farmer  in 
Scripture  who  was  to  build  himself  new  barns 
but  was  told:  "  This  night  they  require  thy  soul 
of  thee!  "  But  the  widow  honestly  mourns,  as 
honestly  faces  the  tragedy,  and  is  at  the — wash- 
line  the  day  after  the  funeral,  and  at  Christmas. 
Brave,  noble  dame,  thou  hast  made  no  presents 
to  any  this  Christmas,  but  thou  hast  left  some- 
thing more  lasting  to  thy  fellows:  thy — wash- 


December  25th. 

The  second  funeral  yesterday  was  at  2 :3o, 
an  hour  and  a  half  after  the  first.  This  man  also 
died  of  asthma;  and  was,  not  exactly  a  neighbor, 
but  almost  one.  Till  recently  he  lived  in  the 
next  house  to  mine  on  the  same  side  of  the  street. 
The  first  death  was  almost  sudden,  but  peaceful. 


This  case  was  one  of  long  suffering,  and  frequent 
attacks  of  choking.  When  the  owner  of  the 
second  grocery-site  died,  the  store  came  into  the 
market  again,  and  this  man  took  the  store,  but 
with  small  capital.  He  eked  out  from  it  some 
sort  of  living  for  himself,  wife  and  a  boy  and  a 
girl.  But  the  sickness  at  last  compelled  him  to 
have  a  man  take  his  place  on  the  team;  this  took 
most  of  the  profit.  Himself  ill  abed  most  of  the 
time,  the  wife  keeping  house  upstairs,  tending 
store  down  stairs,  a  bell  calling  her  down  whenever 
the  door  was  opened,  the  children  were  sent  to 
school  during  school  hours,  but  helped  in  the 
store  out  of  school  hours. 

Mr.  Pond  was  of  Scotch  descent;  the  wife  was 
from  Nova  Scotia;  a  faithful,  clear-headed, 
plodding,  overworked  wife  and  mother.  But  the 
two  children  grew  up  with  strong  faces,  delicate 
build,  and  winsome  manners. 

Last  summer  the  girl  of  some  twelve  years  was 
taken  ill  with  typhoid  fever;  they  had  moved 
away  about  a  mile  from  town  to  have  a  home, 
rather  than  an  up-stairs  over  a  store,  with  only 
a  stoop  to  sit  out  on.  And  they  took  comfort 
in  having  a  place  with  a  country  outlook,  and  a 
bit  of  green  to  sit  out  on  during  the  hot  days. 
But  something  was  wrong  with  the  new  place, 
and  ere  long  the  popular,  innocent,  dear  Ethel 
was  announced  to  her  old  village  friends  as — dead. 
Bouquets  were  sent  by  the  dozen;  every  heart 
was  touched;  the  sickness  of  the  father,  the 
faithful  toil  of  the  wife  and  mother,  the  perfect 
companionship  of  brother  and  sister — the  tragic 
death  laid  at  once  to  the  moving,  thus  laying 
an  additional  burden  of  remorse  upon  the  parents 


— human  nature  is  here  quick  to  return  to  its 
godlikeness,  from  which  it  has  fallen,  and  duly 
came  forward  here  with  deep,  heartfelt  sympathy. 
But  the  blow  was  of  the  sort  for  which  there  is 
no  human  help.  The  day  before  the  child's 
funeral,  when  a  word  of  sympathy  was  sent  over 
the  telephone,  there  came  in  response  a  tender 
appreciation  of  all  kindness  shown,  but  the 
broken  voice  and  the  tears  which  could  be  plainly 
heard  even  at  the  telephone  told  clearly  enough 
of  the  helplessness  of  man  at  such  times.  During 
the  funeral  the  father  lay  ill  up-stairs,  And  he 
never  recovered  thereafter,  until  at  last  he  too 
died  the  same  day  with  Mr.  Dockwell,  and  was 
laid  way  the  same  day  with  him. 

And,  now,  the  poor  woman  has  a  boy  to  bring 
up — it  was  the  father's  hope  to  see  him  through 
the  High  School — and  herself  to  support.  The 
townfolk  will  be  kind,  but  in  the  end  she  will 
have  to  provide  for  herself. 

At  one  time  he  was  in  financial  straights,  his 
wagon  and  horses  had  to  be  sold  for  the  creditors. 
A  Roman  Catholic  Irishman,  a  stable-keeper, 
bought  them  for  him,  to  enable  him  to  go  on  with 
the  business.  He  being  an  undertaker  at  the 
same  time — for  the  Roman  Catholics — it  some- 
how came  natural  this  time  that  this  Roman 
Catholic  Irishman  be  the  one  for  the  first  time 
in  the  history  of  this  town  to  bury  a  Protestant; 
and  take  him  to  the  Protestant  Cemetery,  after 
listening  to  Protestant  prayers  and  Scripture 
read  by  a  Protestant  clergyman,  and  Protestant 
songs  by  a  Protestant  choir. 

Thus  one  loving  deed  by  a  plain,  kind  hearted 
stable   keeper   had  made   possible   what   dozens 

564  THE   DAY   BEFORE    CHmu..     £ 

of  Conferences  betwixt  the  heads  of  different 
religious  bodies  are  most  unlikely  to  accomplish. 
And  as  I  was  talking  with  him  only  the  day  before, 
he  was  wholly  unaware  that  he  had  brought 
about  aught  extraordinary   ...... 

My  dear  Panin: 

This  is  very  remarkably  well  done — very  lightly 
and  delicately  put  on  the  canvas  but  it  is  all  very  sad 
and  very  discouraging.  I  do  not  feel  that  such  a  minor 
note  is  needed  in  our  present  state  of  mind.  Drop  the 
note  of  depression.  Men  look  for  encouragement  and 
stimulus  to  endure  the  tragic  ills  of  life  which  need  no 
enlargement  by  your  skilful  pen.  Your  grace  of  style 
is  inimitable.  You  ought  to  be  remembered  for  it 
and  you  will  be. — E.  P.  U. 

[Comment  by  "  my  dear  Panin":  Hml] 


Scientifically  Demonstrated. 

To  the  Editor  of  The  Sun,  New  York  City : 

Sir — In  to-day's  Sun  Mr.  W.  R.  L.  calls  for  a 
" champion  of  orthodoxy"  to  "step  into  the  arena 
of  the  Sun''  and  give  him  some  "facts."  Here 
are  some  facts : 

i.  The  first  17  verses  of  the  New  Testament 
contain  the  genealogy  of  the  Christ.  It  consists 
of  two  main  parts:  Verses  1-11  cover  the  period 
from  Abraham,  the  father  of  the  chosen  people, 
to  the  Captivity,  when  they  ceased  as  an  inde- 
pendent people.  Verses  12-17  cover  the  period 
from  the  Captivity  to  the  promised  Deliverer,  the 

Let  us  examine  the  first  part  of  this  genealogy. 

Its  vocabulary  has  49  words,  or  7X7.  This 
number  is  itself  a  multiple  of  seven  (Feature  1), 
and  the  sum  of  its  factors  is  2  sevens  (Feature  2). 
Of  these  49  words  28,  or  4  sevens,  begin  with  a 
vowel;  and  21,  or  3  sevens,  begin  with  a  con- 
sonant (Feature  3);  seven  end  with  a  vowel,  and 
42,  or  6  sevens,  end  with  a  consonant  (Feature  4). 

Again :  these  49  words  of  the  vocabulary  have 
266  letters,  or  7X2X19;  this  number  is  itself  38 
sevens  (Feature  5),  and  the  sum  of  its  factors  is 
28,  or  4  sevens  (Feature  6).  Of  these  266  letters, 
moreover,  140,  or  20  sevens,  are  vowels,  and  126, 
or  18  sevens,  are  consonants  (Feature  7). 

That  is  to  say:  Just  as  the  number  of  words 
in  the  vocabulary  is  a  multiple  of  seven,  so  is  the 


number  of  its  letters  a  multiple  of  seven;  just  as 
the  sum  of  the  factors  of  the  number  of  the 
words  is  a  multiple  of  seven,  so  is  the  sum  of  the 
factors  of  the  numbers  of  their  letters  a  multiple 
of  seven.  And  just  as  the  number  of  words  is 
divided  between  vowel  words  and  consonant 
words  by  sevens,  so  is  their  number  of  letters 
divided  between  vowels  and  consonants  by  sevens. 

Again:  Of  these  49  words  35,  or  5  sevens, 
occur  more  than  once  in  the  passage;  and  14,  or 
2  sevens,  occur  but  once  (Feature  8) ;  seven,  occur 
in  more  than  one  form,  and  42,  or  6  sevens,  occur 
in  only  one  form  (Feature  9).  And  among  the 
parts  of  speech  the  49  words  are  thus  divided: 
42,  or  6  sevens,  are  nouns,  seven  are  not  nouns 
(Feature  10).  Of  the  nouns  35,  or  5  sevens,  are 
proper  names,  seven  are  common  nouns  (Feature 
11).  Of  the  proper  names  28  are  male  ancestors 
of  the  Christ,  and  seven  are  not  (Feature  12). 

Morever,  these  49  words  are  distributed  alpha- 
betically thus :  words  under  as  are  2 1  in  number, 
or  3  sevens;  Z-k}  14,  or  2  sevens,  m-X,  also  14.  No 
other  groups  of  sevens  stopping  at  the  end  of  a 
letter  are  made  by  these  49  words,  the  groups  of 
sevens  stop  with  these  letters  and  no  others.  But 
the  letters  as  8,  k  la  x  are  letters  156101222 
of  the  Greek  alphabet,  and  the  sum  of  these  num- 
bers (called  their  Place  Values)  is  56,  or  8  sevens 
(Feature  13). 

This  enumeration  of  the  numeric  phenomena  of 

-these  11  verses  does  not  begin  to  be  exhaustive, 

but  enough  has  been  shown  to  make  it  clear  that 

this  part  of  the  genealogy  is  constructed  on  an 

elaborate  design  of  sevens. 

Let  us  now  turn  to  the  genealogy  as  a  whole. 


I  will  not  weary  your  readers  with  recounting  all 
the  numeric  phenomena  thereof:  pages  alone 
would  exhaust  them.  I  will  point  out  only  one 
feature :  The  New  Testament  is  written  in  Greek. 
The  Greeks  had  no  separate  symbols  for  express- 
ing numbers,  corresponding  to  our  Arabic  figures, 
but  used  instead  the  letters  of  their  alphabet: 
just  as  the  Hebrews,  in  whose  tongue  the  Old 
Testament  is  written,  made  use  for  the  same 
purpose  of  theirs.  Accordingly,  the  24  Greek 
letters  stand  for  the  following  numbers:  123 
4  5  7  8  9  10  20  30  40  50  60  70  80  100  200  300 
400  500  600  700  800.  Every  Greek  word  is  thus 
a  sum  in  arithmetic  obtained  by  adding  the  num- 
bers for  which  its  letters  stand,  or  their  numeric 
values.  Now  the  vocabulary  to  the  entire  gen- 
ealogy has  72  words.  If  we  write  its  numeric 
value  over  each  of  these  72  words,  and  add  them, 
we  get  for  their  sum  42,364,  or  6,052  sevens,  dis- 
tributed into  the  following  alphabetical  groups 
only:  ot-fi  have  9,821,  or  1,403  sevens;  y-d, 
1904,  or  272  sevens;  ^-5,  3,703,  or  529  sevens; 
0-p,  19,264,  or  2,752  sevens;-  G-x,  7,672,  or  1,096 
sevens.  But  the  numeric  value  of  the  10  letters 
used  for  making  these  groups  is  931,  or  7X7X19, 
a  multiple  not  only  of  seven  but  of  seven  sevens. 
And  the  same  is  true  of  the  90  forms  in  which 
these  72  words  occur:  their  90  numeric  values 
sum  up  54,075,  or  7,725  sevens,  and  this  number 
is  distributed  into  just  seven  alphabetical  groups 
of  sevens. 

Let  Mr.  W.  R.  L.  sit  down  and  try  to  write 
some  300  words  intelligently  like  this  genealogy, 
and  reproduce  some  numeric  phenomena  of  like 
designs.    If  he  does  it  in  6  months,  he  will  indeed 


do  a  wonder.     Let  us  assume  that  Matthew  ac- 
complished this  feat  in  one  month. 

2.  The  second  part  of  this  chapter,  verses 
18-25,  relates  the  birth  of  the  Christ.  It  consists 
of  161  words,  or  23  sevens;  occurring  in  105 
forms,  or  15  sevens,  with  a  vocabulary  of  77 
words,  or  11  sevens.  Joseph  is  spoken  to  here 
by  the  angel.  Accordingly,  of  the  77  words  the 
angel  uses  28,  or  4  sevens;  of  the  105  forms  he 
uses  35,  or  5  sevens;  the  numeric  value  of  the 
vocabulary  is  52,605,  or  7,515  sevens;  of  the 
forms,  65,429,  or  9,347  sevens. 

This  enumeration  only  begins  as  it  were  to 
barely  scratch  the  surface  of  the  numerics  of  this 
passage.  But  what  is  specially  noteworthy  here 
is:  the  fact  that  the  angel's  speech  has  also  a 
scheme  of  sevens  makes  it  a  kind  of  ring  within 
a  ring,  a  wheel  within  a  wheel.  If  Mr.  L.  can 
write  a  similar  story  of  161  words  with  the  same 
scheme  of  sevens  alone  (though  there  are  several 
others  here)  in  some  three  years,  he  would  ac- 
complish a  still  greater  wonder.  Let  us  assume 
that  Matthew  accomplished  this  feat  in  only  6 

3.  The  second  chapter  of  Matthew  tells  of  the 
childhood  of  the  Christ.  Its  vocabulary  has  161 
words,  or  23  sevens,  with  896  letters,  or  128  sev- 
ens, and  238  forms,  or  34  sevens ;  the  numeric  value 
of  the  vocabulary  is  123,529,  or  17,647  sevens;  of 
the  forms,  166,985,  or  23,855  sevens;  and  so  on 
through  pages  of  enumeration.  This  chapter  has 
at  least  four  logical  divisions,  and  each  division 
shows  alone  the  same  phenomena  found  in  the 


chapter  as  a  whole.  Thus  the  first  six  verses  have 
a  vocabulary  of  56  words,  or  8  sevens,  etc.  There 
are  some  speeches  here:  Herod  speaks,  the  Magi 
speak,  the  angel  speaks.  But  so  pronounced  are 
the  numeric  phenomena  here,  that  though  there 
are  as  it  were,  numerous  rings  within  rings,  and 
wheels  within  wheels,  each  is  perfect  in  itself, 
though  forming  all  the  while  only  part  of  the  rest. 
If  Mr.  L.  can  write  a  chapter  like  this  as  nat- 
urally as  Matthew  writes,  but  containing  in  some 
500  words  so  many  intertwined  yet  harmonious 
numeric  features,  in  say  the  rest  of  his  days, — 
whatever  his  age  now,  or  the  one  to  which  he  is  to 
attain:  if  he  thus  accomplish  it  at  all,  it  will  in- 
deed be  marvel  of  marvels.  Let  us  assume  that 
Matthew  accomplished  this  feat  in  only  3  years. 

4.  There  is  not,  however,  a  single  paragraph 
of  the  hundreds  in  Matthew  that  is  not  con- 
structed on  exactly  the  same  plan.  Only  with 
each  additional  paragraph  the  difficulty  of  con- 
structing it  increases  not  in  arithmetical  but  in 
geometrical  progression.  For  he  contrives  to 
write  his  paragraphs  so  as  to  develop  constantly 
fixed  numeric  relations  to  what  goes  before  and 
after.  Thus  in  his  last  chapter  he  contrives  to 
use  just  7  words  not  used  by  him  before.  It 
would  thus  be  easy  to  show  that  Mr.  L.  would  re- 
quire some  centuries  to  write  a  book  like  Mat- 
thew's. How  long  it  took  Matthew  the  writer 
does  not  know.  But  how  he  contrived  to  do  it 
between  the  Crucifixion,  A.  D.  30  (and  his  Gospel 
could  not  have  been  written  earlier),  and  the 
destruction  of  Jerusalem,  A.  D.  70  (and  the  Gos- 
pel could  not  have  been  written  later),  let  Mr.  L. 
and  his  like  minded  explain. 


Anyhow  Matthew  did  it,  and  we  thus  have  a! 
miracle, — an  unheard  of  literary,  mathematical  j 
artist,  unequalled,  hardly  even  conceivable.  This  | 
is  the  first  fact  for  Mr.  L.  to  contemplate. 

A  second  fact  is  yet  more  important :  In  his 
very  first  section,  the  genealogy  discussed  above, 
the  words  found  nowhere  else  in  the  New  Testa- 
ment, occur  42  times,  7X6;  and  have  126  letters, 
7X6X3,  each  number  a  multiple  not  only  of  sev- 
ens, but  of  6  sevens,  to  name  only  two  of  the 
many  numeric  features  of  these  words.  But  how 
did  Matthew  know,  when  designing  this  scheme 
for  these  words  (whose  sole  characteristic  is  that 
they  are  found  nowhere  else  in  the-  New  Testa- 
ment) that  they  would  not  be  found  in  the  other 
26  books?  that  they  would  not  be  used  by  the 
other  7  New  Testament  writers?  Unless  we  as- 
sume the  impossible  hypothesis  that  he  had  an 
agreement  with  them  to  that  effect,  he  must  have 
had  the  rest  of  the  New  Testament  before  him 
when  he  wrote  his  book.  The  Gospel  of  Matthew, 
then,  was  written  last. 

5.  It  so  happens,  however,  that  the  Gospel  of 
Mark  shows  the  very  same  phenomena.  Thus 
the  very  passage  called  so  triumphantly  in  to- 
day's Sun  a  ' 'forgery,"  the  Last  Twelve  Verses 
of  Mark,  presents  among  some  sixty  features  of 
sevens  the  following  phenomena:  It  has  175 
words,  or  25  sevens;  a  vocabulary  of  98  words,  or 
2  sevens  of  sevens,  with  553  letters,  or  79  sevens; 
133  forms,  or  19  sevens,  and  so  on  to  the  minutest 

Mark,  then,  is  another  miracle,  another  unpar- 
alelled    mathematical   literary  genius.      And   in 


the  same  way  in  which  it  was  shown  that  Mat- 
thew wrote  last  it  is  also  shown  that  Mark  too 
wrote  last.  Thus  to  take  an  example  from  the 
very  passage:  It  has  just  one  word  found  no- 
where else  in  the  New  Testament,  davdai^o^^ 
deadly.  This  fact  is  signalled  by  no  less  than 
■six  features  of  sevens  thus:  Its  numeric  value  is 
581,  or  83  sevens,  of  which  the  letters  ending  its 
four  syllables  have  490,  or  7  X  7  X  5  X  2  :  a  multiple 
of  seven  sevens,  with  the  sum  of  its  factors  21, 
or  3  sevens.  In  the  vocabulary  it  is  preceded  by 
42  words,  7 X6;  in  the  passage  itself  by  126  words, 
or  7X6X3,  both  numbers  multiples  not  only  of 
seven,  but  of  6  sevens.  We  have  thus  established 
before  us  this  third  fact  for  Mr.  L.  to  contem- 
plate: Matthew  surely  wrote  after  Mark,  and  Mark 
just  as  surely  wrote  after  Matthew. 

6.  It  happens,  however,  to  be  a  fourth  fact 
that  Luke  presents  the  same  phenomena  as  Mat- 
thew and  Mark,  and  so  does  John,  and  James, 
and  Peter,  and  Jude,  and  Paul.  And  we  have 
thus  no  longer  two  great  unheard  of  mathematical 
literati,  but  eight  of  them,  and  each  wrote  after  the 

7.  And  not  only  this.  As  Luke  and  Peter 
wrote. each  two  books,  John  5,  and  Paul  14,  it 
can  in  the  same  way  be  shown  that  each  of  the 
seven  and  twenty  New  Testament  books  was 
written  last.  In  fact,  not  a  page  of  the  over  500 
in  Westcott  &  Hort's  Greek  edition  (which  the 
writer  has  used  throughout)  but  it  can  be  demon- 
strated thus  to  have  been  written  last. 

The  phenomena  are  there,  and  there  is  no 
human    way    of    explaining    them.      Eight    men 



cannot  each  write  last,  27  books,  some  500  pages 
cannot  each  be  written  last.  But  once  assume 
that  One  Mind  directed  the  whole,  and  the  prob- 
lem is  solved  simply  enough;  but  this  is  Verbal 
Inspiration — of  every  jot  and  title  of  the  New 

There  remains  only  to  be  added  that  by  pre- 
cisely the  same  kind  of  evidence  the  Hebrew  Old 
Testament  is  proved  to  be  equally  inspired.  Thus 
the  very  first  verse  of  Genesis  has  seven  words, 
28  letters,  or  4  sevens;  its  very  first  syllable  has, 
a  numeric  value  of  203,  or  29  sevens,  to  name  only 
three  out  of  the  dozens  of  numeric  features  of 
this  one  verse  of  only  seven  words. —  N.  Y.  Sun  j 
Nov.  21,   1899.     Corrected. 

To  this  letter  several  replies  appeared  in  the 
Sun}  but  not  a  single  answer.  For  in  only  thre^ 
ways  can  it  be  refuted. 

a.  By  showing  that  the  facts  are  not  as  here 

b.  By  showing  that  it  is  possible  for  eight  mer 
to  write  each  after  the  other  seven;  for  27  bookr.l 
for  some  500  pages  to  be  each  in  its  turn  writtei 

c.  By  showing  that  even  if  the  facts  be  true 
the  arithmetic  faultless,  and  the  collocation  o 
the  numerics  honest,  it  does  not  follow  that  mer< 
men  could  not  have  written  thus  without  Inspira 
tion  from  above. 

Accordingly,  as  many  as  nine  noted  rationalist 
(of  whom  Drs.  Lyman  Abbot  and  Charles  W 
Eliot  are  still  living)  were  respectfully  but  puV 
licly  invited  to  refute  the  writer.  One  was  no 
"interested  "in  the  writer's  "arithmetical"  doings 


two  "regretted"  that  they  "had  no  time"  to  give 
heed  thereto.  Another  "did  not  mean  to  be 
unkind,"  but.  .  .  .The  rest  were  silent.  For  the 
Special  benefit  of  these  the  writer  printed  the 
original  data  with  numerous  details,  enabling 
them  in  the  easiest  manner  to  verify  every  state- 
ment made  by  him,  if  they  wished.  And  to  the 
oest  of  his  ability  he  has  for  years  seen  to  it  that 
10  scholar  whom  surely  these  things  specially  con- 
cern remain  in  ignorance  of  the  facts  here  re- 
:ounted,  and  of  hundreds  of  like  cogency. 

A  notable  exception  to  the  above  is  a  lawyer 
of  standing,  whose  books  on  Law  are  deemed  as 
}f  authority.  He  had  intelligence  enough  and 
candor  withal  to  confess  that  the  case  for  the 
Bible  as  made  out  by  the  writer  is  impregnable, 
that  the  Bible  is  thus  proved  to  be  an  "absolutely 
unique  book."  This  much  the  case  itself  extorts 
from  the  but  too  well  equipped  writer  on — 
Evidence;  and  accordingly  he  henceforth  reads 
the  writer's  Numerics  with  intense  appreciation. 
And  then,  fresh  from  this  confession,  he  betakes 
i  !mself  once  more  to  the  circulation  of  his  anti- 
Christian  books  in  the  writing  of  which  he  joys 
bo  spend  his  leisure  hours  .... 

to  "Thoughts,"  of  1899. 

The  best  preface  should  really  be  the  book 
itself,  but  poor  is  the  rule  that  admits  of  no 
exception.  Still,  however  pressing  apparently 
the  need,  the  writer  pens  this  preface,  if  not 
with  the  half  will  of  forced  submission,  at  leas 
with  the  divided  heart  of  natural  perplexity. 

Nay,  even  the  book  itself  he  would  fain  have 
left  unknown.  For  the  Spirit  hath  already  in 
the  ages  of  yore  recorded  His  opinion  in  the 
complaint  that  of  making  many  books  there  is 
no  end.  And  Job,  to  get  his  enemy  wholly  at 
his  mercy  hath  only  one  wish,  O  that  mine 
enemy  had  written  a  book!  These,  however, 
are  merely  hints.  The  full  illustrations  are 
given  in  at  least  four  notable  ways. 

Moses  is  of  all  men  the  only  one  whom  the 
Spirit  hath  condescended  to  liken  unto  the  Lore 
Christ.  "A  prophet  like  unto  me  shall  the  Lord 
God  raise  up  unto  you,"  he  is  commanded  to 
declare  unto  the  chosen  people,  and  a  right  rich, 
a  right  full  life  he  led,  this  man  Moses. 

Born  in  the  house  of  toil,  he  is  reared  in  a 
palace.  Spends  twoscore  years  at  court,  and 
fourscore  in  the  wilderness.  Leaves  school 
without  his  God  at  forty,  and  is  sent  back  to 
school  by  his  God  till  he  is  eighty.  Flees  for 
his  life,  keeps  sheep  for  a  wife.     Is  alone  forty 


years  without  a  multitude,  is  alone  another 
forty  years  with  the  multitude.  Fasts  forty 
days,  and  talks  with  God  face  to  face.  A  rich 
life,  a  full  life  he  leads,  this  man  Moses. 

A  learned  man,  a  wise  man  was  this  Moses. 
He  was  versed  in  all  the  wisdom  of  the  Egyp- 
tians. The  dynasties,  he  understood  their  puz- 
zle. The  hieroglyphics,  he  had  fathomed  their 
mystery.  The  pyramids,  he  had  solved  their 
problem.  The  sphinx,  he  had  discovered  its 
secret.  A  wise  man,  a  learned  man  was  this 
man  Moses. 

Come  now,  Moses,  wilt  thou  not  tell  us  what 
thou  sawest  those  forty  years  at  Pharao's  court? 
in  the  wilderness  with  Jethro,  with  Zippora 
thine,  thy  rebellious  spouse,  with  Miriam,  thy 
rebellious  sister,  with  Israel  thy  rebellious  peo- 
ple? Chevalier  Bunsen  would  like  to  know. 
Professor  Brugsch  would  like  to  know,  plain 
Lepsius  would  like  to  know,  the  orientalists 
would  like  to  know;  scholars,  historians,  a  host 
of  cultured  folk  would  like  to  know.  Wilt  thou 
not  tell  us,  thou  man  Moses?  But  wellnigh 
ravishing  though  these  themes  be,  pyramidical 
silence  is  all  he  here  hath  for  us,  this  man  Moses. 

Even  those  who  cannot  get  away  with .  his 
six  days  of  creation,  his  parting  sea,  gust  of 
quails,  his  speaking  ass,  and  serpent  either 
upright  on  legs  seducing  or  hanging  from  a  pole 
healing,  would  gladly  forgive  him  these  his 
indiscretions,  if  only  he  had  left  us  some  goodly 
tomes  of  this  his  Egyptian  wisdom.  Nay,  were 
he  suddenly  to  reappear,  even  if  only  to  reveal 
the  mystery  of  his  tomb,  he  might  perhaps  fail 
of  an  appointment  to  the  professorship  of  arche- 


ology  at  Oxford  or  Harvard,  but  the  Royal  soci- 
ety would  give  him  a  right  hearty  welcome, 
and  a  dollar  a  ticket  would  not  be  deemed  too 
high  a  price  for  getting  a  look  from  the  plat- 
form at  this  man  Moses.  The  enterprising 
newspaper  would  cheerfully  part  with  a  whole 
thousand  of  its  abounding  dollars  to  secure  his 
first  impressions  of  this  land  of  interviews.  The 
magazine  pictorial  would  secure  from  him  a 
paper,  the  magazine  unpictorial  would  lay  hold 
of  him  for  a  symposium:  'Tngersoll  on  the 
mistakes  of  Moses ;  Moses  on  the  mistakes  of 
Ingersoll."  The  young  maids  would  crave  his 
autograph,  the  old  maids  his  photograph.  And 
even  the  slowly  moving  universities  would  at 
last  relax  to  the  extent  at  least  of  giving  him 
an  honorary  degree.  A  wondrous  success  he  thus 
would  be,  this  man  Moses.  And  yet  this  Moses 
foregoes  the  riches  of  Egypt  for  the  sake  of 
writing  according  to  the  mind  of  the  Spirit. 

Unto  Solomon  was  given  a  wise  and  under- 
standing heart,  so  that  the  like  of  him  was 
neither  before  him  nor  was  any  to  arise  after  him. 
He  excelled  the  wisdom  of  all  the  children  of  the 
East,  and  all  the  wisdom  of  Egypt.  "For  he 
was  wiser  than  all  men :  than  Ethan  the  Ezrahite, 
and  Heman,  and  Calcol,  and  Dada,  the  sons  of 
Mahol.  Proverbs  he  spake  three  thousand,  and 
his  songs  were  one  thousand  and  five.  And  of 
trees  he  spake:  from  the  cedar  in  Lebanon  even 
unto  the  hyssop  that  springeth  out  of  the  wall. 
He  spake  also  of  beasts,  and  of  fowls,  and  of 
creeping  things,  and  of  fishes."    Yet  of  the  men 


who  alone  are  singled  out  for  comparison  with 
the  wisest  of  men  the  Spirit  hath  left  us  the  bare 
names.  Of  the  three  thousand  proverbs  (who 
hath  eyes  to  see  let  him  look!)  only  a  tithe  have 
been  allowed  to  escape.  Of  the  thousand  and 
five  songs  of  Solomon  (who  hath  ears  to  hear, 
let  him  hear!)  there  has  been  allowed  to  be 
wafted  down  the  ages  only  one.  Schiller  leaves 
some  unfinished  piece,  Goethe  leaves  some  im- 
mature doings,  and  generation  after  generation 
gathers  up  the  fragments  with  the  eagerness  of 
the  faithful  hound  for  the  leavings  from  his  mas- 
ter's table.  But  from  the  table  of  Solomon — ■ 
with  only  one  dish  shall  the  generations  be  con- 
tent. This  is  the  estimate  the  Spirit  places  upon 
the  books  writ  by  even  the  wisest  of  men. 

Unto  John  Baptist  the  witness  is  borne  from 
the  lips  of  him  that  spake  as  man  never  spake 
that  he  was  of  all  prophets  the  greatest.  Yea, 
that  among  them  born  of  women  there  was  none 
greater  than  John  Baptist.  A  plain  man  he  is. 
this  John  Baptist.  He  dines  not  with  the  wits 
his  fare  is  locusts  and  honey  wild:  his  garments 
are  not  cut  in  the  latest  Jerusalem  style:  hairy 
is  his  garment,  leathern  his  girdle;  a  strange  man 
is  this  Baptist  John;  he  had  written  no  books; 
the  Jerusalem  Critic  does  not  praise  him,  the 
Jordan  Nation  does  not  condemn  him;  the 
booksellers  do  not  advertise  him,  yet  he  has  made 
an  unheard-of  reputation,  this  John.  He  preaches 
in  the  wilderness:  no  plush  seats,  no  prelude, 
postlude;  no  solo;  no  excursion  train  towards 
Baptistville;     no    electrics    towards    ^Enon,    not 


even  dray  beast  line.  Yet  the  crowds  flock  to 
hear  this  man  with  rock  to  the  right  of  him,  rock 
to  the  left  of  him,  rock  at  the  back  of  him,  only 
water  at  the  front  of  him,  the  rough  breezes 
around  him,  bare  sky  over  him.  Yet  they  flock 
to  hear  this  John:  Jerusalem,  and  all  Judea, 
and  the  region  round  about  Jordan.  No  fine 
words  he  uses,  this  John:  the  cultured  and  re- 
fined of  the  day  are  to  him  only  a  generation  of 
vipers.  Yet  he  makes  kings  to  tremble  before 
him,  this  John. 

Before  this  voice  crying  in  the  wilderness  all 
pulpit  eloquence  is  as  the  hand  organ  before  the 
hymn  of  the  ages.  Professors  of  homiletics,  of 
oratory,  eloquence,  and  what  not,  what  would 
not  here  be  given  for  at  least  one  complete  dis- 
course of  this  man  John!  But  though  of  the 
eight  writers  of  the  New  Testament  no  less  than 
four  are  assigned  to  make  report  of  him,  all  we 
are  permitted  to  know  of  his  preaching  is:  of 
text,  just  seven  words;  of  discourse,  some  six- 
score  of  words.  This  is  the  estimate  the  Spirit 
places  upon  the  preservation  of  the  words  of, 
upon  the  book  of,  him  who  had  no  superior  among 
them  born  of  women. 

Lastly :  The  Son  of  Man  himself,  a  few  sayings 
of  his,  perhaps  not  even  genuine,  were  recently 
discovered:  Forthwith  all  Christendom  is  on 
tiptoe:  formal  as  well  as  devout;  spurious  as 
well  as  genuine  Christendom;  all  manner  of 
glasses,  microscopic  and  otherwise,  are  turned  on 
these  Rip  Van  Winklian  arrivals.  The  wee 
wordlets  are  demanded  from  the  four  quarters 
of  the  heavens  to  give  strict  account  of  them- 


selves :  Professor  Ordinarius,  and  Professor 
Extraordinarius,  docent,  fellow,  tutor,  reviewer, 
scribe,  gentleman  of  the  scissors — are  all  present 
at  the  examination  of  the  strangers.  This  over 
a  few  of  His  sayings:  what  commotion  then 
would  there  be  were  a  single  additional  doing  of 
His  brought  to  light?  But  the  disciple  who  alone 
of  all  others  was  permitted  to  rest  his  head  on 
the  Master's  bosom  most  solemnly  declares: 
" Many  other  signs,   therefore,   did  Jesus  which 

are  not  written  in  this  book And  there  are 

also  many  other  things  which  Jesus  did,  which  if 
they  should  be  written  every  one,  I  suppose  that 
even  the  world  itself  would  not  contain  the  books 
that  should  be  written."  On  the  most  absorbing 
theme  which  man  could  treat,  here  is  one  who 
hath  boundless  material  therefor,  and  he  delib- 
erately lays  down  his  pen,  and  retires  into  the 
eternal  Silence  after  writing  what  would  fill 
perhaps  one  of  the  forty  pages  of  the  Sunday 
newspaper,  of  which  there  are  printed  for  us  in 
•the  course  of  one  year  2,040  such  pages. 

When  in  May,  1881,  the  Revised  Version  of 
the  New  Testament  was  at  last  published,  a 
Chicago  paper,  eager  to  outstrip  its  rivals  if  only 
for  four  and  twenty  hours,  had  the  entire  New 
Testament  telegraphed  from  New  York  for  its 
readers.  This  for  the  sake  of  a  few  changes  in 
the  translation  of  the  story  of  the  Son  of  Man. 
And  thou,  blessed  John,  knewest  a  world  of 
books  about  this  Son  of  Man,  and  holdest  thy 
peace?  Even  so,  for  it  was  the  mind  of  the 
Spirit  to  witness  that  even  for  the  doings  of  the 
Son  of  God  four  booklets  suffice  for  some  eighteen 
centuries  of  time. 



But  the  Spirit  hath  not  left  the  making  of 
many  books  to  mere  inference.  He  that  hath 
said,  The  words  which  I  spake  unto  you,  they 
shall  judge  you  at  the  last  day,  spake  also  this: 
Every  idle  word  that  men  shall  speak,  they  shall 
give  account  thereof  in  the  day  of  judgment: 
for  by  thy  words  thou  shalt  be  justified,  and  by 
thy  words  thou  shalt  be  condemned.  If  it  be 
thus  with  every  idle  word  spoken,  which  hath 
only  two  wings,  what  of  the  printed  word  with 
its  hundreds  and  thousands  of  wings? 


And  once  more,  as  if  to  strike  at  the  very  root 
of  the  multitudinous  making  of  books,  the  Spirit 
hath  left  the  injunction:  Be  not  many  teachers, 
my  brethren,  knowing  that  we  shall  receive 
heavier  judgment.  The  lips  of  the  priest  keeping 
knowledge  no  longer,  the  hungry  mass  hath  be- 
taken itself  elsewhither,  to  the  writer;  and  the 
writer  has  thus  become  the  teacher,  even  where 
he  writes  for  self -imposition,  if  not  for  self-preser- 
vation. And  the  Father  of  the  spirits  of  all  flesh 
knowing  the  heart  of  the  sons  of  Adam  full  well, 
that  with  tyranny  it  begins  and  with  tyranny  it 
ends,  hath  called  to  them  across  the  ages,  Be 
not  many  teachers  among  you!  A  most  earnest 
thing  is  this  making  of  books,  a  solemn  matter 
this  of  teaching! 

The  disciple,  who  by  the  grace  of  Heaven  hath 
been  permitted  to  drink  freely  of  the  water  of 
Life  in  the  pages  of  this  Book  can  surely  only 
abstain  from  the  guilt  of  making  many  books. 

But   when   the    Pharisees    asked    the    Master! 


Whether  it  be  lawful  to  put  away  a  wife  for  any 
cause,  he  gave  in  answer:  Moses  for  your  hard- 
ness of  heart  suffered  you  to  put  away  your 
wives,  but  from  the  beginning  it  hath  not  been  so. 
The  great  God,  knowing  that  man  is  but  flesh, 
condescends  thus  to  the  less  good  instead  of  the 
best  simply  because  sinful  man  hath  strayed 
from  the  beginning  when  it  had  not  been  so. 

And  had  the  writer  always  been  what  the 
great  God  intended  man  to  be,  there  would  be 
neither  book  nor  preface  from  him.  But  with 
him  also  alas !  it  had  not  been  from  the  beginning 
so.  And  so  he  published  some  dozen  years  ago 
two  booklets  of  "Thoughts."  The  motives  for 
their  coming  into  visibility  were,  as  natural, 
rather  mixed.  If  at  twenty  one  is  wiser  than  at 
fifty,  one  is  at  thirty  only  wiser  than  at  forty. 
Some  craving,  perhaps,  for  sympathy  by  one 
uprooted  from  his  native  soil,  and  not  yet 
grounded  in  the  transplanted  soil.  A  goodly 
dose  of  honest  philanthropy,  with  a  like  goodly 
dose  of  Adamic  tyrant,  were  likely  enough  also 
well  mixed  in.  Be  that  as  it  may,  there  was  at 
least  some  rather  honest  toil  put  into  the  work. 
But  honest  though  the  booklets  were,  aphorisms 
and  sayings  by  the  ounce,  when  put  into  the 
form  of  a  book,  are  not  easily  relished  by  a  race 
that  takes  indeed  its  lunches  standing,  but  pre- 
fers its  reading,  if  not  by  the  pound,  at  least  by 
the  yard.  The  New  York  Rhadamanthus  ac- 
cordingly let  loose  upon  the  poor  author  its 
chosen  Cerberus,  who  if  he  failed  to  show  the 
thoroughbred  blood,  betrayed  at  least  the  teeth 
of  the  race.  Rhadamanthus  has  indeed  the  grace 
shortly  to  confess  that  if  he  had  known  that  the 

582  APPEND  Dt 

victim  of  Cerberus  had  been  befriended  by  his 
own  father  (for  even  Rhadamanthuses  have 
fathers),  he  would  have  kept  Cerberus  chained, 
and  the  poor  author  is  duly  appreciative  of  the 
glimpse  he  is  thus  permitted  to  have  of  the 
mysteries  of  criticism.  But  the  author  on  the 
whole  deemed  it  prudent  to  retire  from  the  field, 
and  retire  he  did,  quite  crestfallen. 


America's  most  sympathetic,  and  therefore 
truest,  critic  writes  indeed  to  the  author  from 
across  the. miles  of  space  that  lie  betwixt  them, 
"Be  not  discouraged,  keep  on!"  And  America's 
acutest  philosopher  (to  whom  the  author's 
"philosophy"  is  only  a  kind  of  endurable  abomi- 
nation) confesses  indeed  that  the  first  booklet 
contains  at  least  four  sayings  of  which  a  hundred 
would  make  the  author  what  he  calls  "immortal" : 
so  that  according  to  the  commercial  mode  of 
speech  the  poor  Cerberus  bitten  writer. is  already 
at  thirty  immortal  four  per  cent.  And  America's 
second  eminent  critic  does  not  indeed  hesitate  to 
write  a  rather  longitudinal  laudation  of  two  other 
of  poor  author's  wordlets.  But  neither  these  nor 
the  many  other  cheering  words  would  have  seri- 
ously roused  the  author  to  reprint  some  of  his 
words.  For  he  soon  learned  that  if  it  be  worth 
while  to  spend  half  a  lifetime  in  getting  into  the 
papers,  it  is  worth  while  to  spend  the  other  half 
of  his  lifetime  in  keeping  out  of  the  papers. 


For  a  marvellous  thing  had  meanwhile  come 
to  pass  in  the  life  of  the  author.  Hitherto  he  had 
sought  wisdom  all  his  days,  and  sought  it  most 


earnestly:  sought  it  in  science,  sought  it  in 
philosophy;  sought  it  in  art,  sought  it  in  letters; 
sought  it  in  college,  sought  it  in  the  world;  sought 
it  from  professor,  sought  it  from  Preacher;  sought 
it  laughing,  crying,  sought  it  yearning,  sobbing. 
And  many  indeed  were  the  things  he  learned  in 
the  search.  The  physiologist  told  him  how  they 
make  frogs'  legs  dance ;  the  astronomer  told  him 
that  Sirius  does  not  really  twinkle,  and  the  nat- 
uralist told  him  that  the  serpent  once  had  legs, 
and  lost  them  in  his  attempts  at  evolution.  The 
philosopher  told  him  that  the  universe  is  a  ma- 
chine, the  scientist,  that  men  have  only  recently 
grown  wiser  than  monkeys.  The  artist  explained 
to  him  how  he  writes  merely  for  the  sake  of 
writing,  the  preacher,  that  one  can  be  a  Christian 
teacher  even  as  agnostic.  Lastly,  the  Professor 
of  Ethics  convinced  the  writer  that  he  was  an 
excellent  fellow.  But  not  a  soul  even  as  much  as 
whispered  to  him  that  the  fear  of  the  Lord  is  the 
beginning  of  wisdom,  and  Knowledge  of  the 
Most  High,  that  is  understanding.  As  upon 
these  sentences  he  at  last  stumbled  as  it  were  in 
a  book  which  is  found  indeed  on  many  a  parlor 
table  of  Christendom,  but  has  to  be  dusted  twice 
a  week,  the  net  sum  of  the  writer's  fruitless  search 
after  wisdom  was  that  he  began  to  look  into  that 
book  in  earnest.  And  what  he  found  was  this: 
he  had  faithfully  and  admiringly  studied  Homer 
and  Plato,  Virgil  and  Cicero,  Epictetus,  Seneca 
and  Marcus  Aurelius,  ^Eschylus  and  Sophocles, 
Confucius  and  Budda,  Mahomet  and  Saadi, 
Shakespeare  and  Bacon,  Dante  and  Rousseau, 
Descartes  and  Spinoza,  Kant  and  Schopenhauer, 
Goethe  and  Herder,  Strauss  and  Buchner,  Emer- 


son  and  Carlyle,  Ruskin  and  Arnold,  Darwin  and 
Spencer,  Proudhon  and  Tolstoy.  In  all  of  these 
is  held  forth  more  or  less  the  promise  of  Life. 
But  the  writer  has  sorrowfully  found  that  though 
these  do  not  indeed  offer  a  stone  for  bread,  yet 
they  give  shelter  to  the  soul  such  as  the  dweller  in 
the  slum  tenement  of  the  city  hath  in  comparison 
with  the  soil  tiller's  homestead  in  the  country. 
They  give  indeed  food  unto  the  heart,  but  it  is 
the  watered  milk  and  the  larded  butter  and  the 
refrigerated  beef  of  the  city  with  its  consequent 
need  of  allopath  and  homeopath,  rather  than  the 
creamy  milk  of  the  farmer,  his  pure  butter,  and 
the  fatted  calf  of  the  country.  On  Carlyle  and 
Emerson,  on  Plato  and  Aurelius,  on  Ruskin  and 
Tolstoy,  one  can  indeed  live,  but  the  Accident 
policy  must  be  carefully  taken  out  before  the 
journey,  and  a  goodly  supply  of  all  manner  of 
liniments,  sarsaparilla,  and  otherwise,  must  ever 
be  at  hand  for  the  mumps  and  measles  of  the 
soul,  which,  say  what  these  teachers  may,  will 
not  down  for  other  than  brief  time.  Not  so, 
however,  with  The  Book.  For  it  tells  of  One 
who  spake  as  man  never  spake,  who  was  the  true 
bread  of  life,  that  which  cometh  down  from  the 
heavens,  of  which  if  a  man  eat  he  shall  never 

After  such  result  of  lengthy  search  for  wisdom 
the  writer  could  well  afford  to  leave  his  booklets 
to  the  silence  from  which  he  had  thought  they 
had  perhaps  better  never  have  come  forth.  This 
maugre  the  encouragement  from  Eminent  Critic 
One,  commendation  from  Eminent  Critic  Two, 
and  assurance  of  at  least  four  per  cent,  of  immor- 


tality  from  eminent  philosopher.  But  one  day 
the  writer  went  to  a  registry  of  deeds.  The 
scribal  dame  in  attendance,  on  seeing  his  name 
on  the  paper  handed  her,  asked,  Is  this  Mr.  Ivan 
Panin?  I  wish  to  thank  you  for  your  Thoughts 
I  had  seen  in  the  Independent,  specially  for  the 
one:  Three  men  are  my  friends, — and  she  recited 
the  whole  of  what  had  appeared  ten  years  before 
in  a  weekly  journal.  And  every  now  and  then 
the  writer  still  receives  in  papers  sent  him  quota- 
tions from  the  booklets  he  had  long  dismissed 
even  as  a  hen  pecks  away  her  own  chicks  in  due 

The  writer  has  thus  not  succeeded  in  getting 
away  from  his  booklets,  and  since  they  no  longer 
truly  represent  him,  it  is  right  that  if  quoted  he 
must  be,  and  judged  for  them,  it  be  at  least  for 
what  he  now  wishes  to  be  held  responsible.  Ac- 
cordingly he  presents  here  to  the  reader  a  selection 
from  the  old  with  some  new.  The  choice  was  not 
always  from  within,  often  rather  from  without. 
When,  for  example,  a  wholesale  dry  goods  mer- 
chant, on  espying  the  author  in  his  store,  comes 
to  him,  takes  him  by  the  hand,  and  with  inde- 
scribable tenderness  speaks  out  as  a  greeting, 
"To  find  yourself,  you  must  first  lose  yourself," 
what  can  poor  author  do  other  than  to  retain  the 
wee  saying,  even  though  it  be  not  the  saying  of 
one  who  already  has  his  Christ,  but  only  of  one  who 
as  yet  only  feels  after  him?  Or  when  a  widely 
known  Unitarian  spokesman  alights  upon  "To 
seek  for  virtue  is  to  be  virtuous,"  with  exclama- 
tion as  to  its  helpfulness,  what  can  poor  author 
say,  but  "In  with  thee,  though tlet  mine,"  even 


though  there  be  serious  question  as  to  its  ultimate 
truth?  The  writer,  ready  to  become  all  things  to 
all  men,  has  herein  let  helpfulness  be  the  decisive 
consideration.  Nor  ought  he  to  omit  mentioning 
that  he  has  a  rather  vaguish^emembrance  of  oncfe 
coming  upon  a  man  who  seemed  to  find  much 
comfort  in  ''Hesitation  is  a  sign  as  much  of  thfe 
abundance  of  ideas  as  of  their  scarcity."  lb 
proved  afterwards  that  the  poor  man — stuttered . . 
The  reader  will  thus  do  well  not  to  expect  to) 
much  from  the  booklet :  it  is  not  a  feast  spread 
for  any  one,  but  rather  a  bill  of  fare,  from  which 
each  can  choose  according  to  his  need. 

Lastly  a  personal  word.  When  'the  writer  was 
without  God  and  without  ho£efirf  the  world  he 
yet  had  a  zeal  for  what  passes  as  righteousness, 
but  not,  alas!  according  to  kitowledge,  with  result 
rather  of  bull  in  china  shop.  And  he  has  given 
some  unnecessary  pain.     This  he  deeply  regrets ."^*" 


Deacidified  using  the  Bookkeeper  process. 

Neutralizing  agent:  Magnesium  Oxide 
Treatment  Date:  Sept.  2009 




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